No Apologies (6 page)

Suddenly Gabe reached between her legs and slowly, slowly, began to pull the string of pearls out. One bead at a time, letting each slip against her clit as he did so. She began coming with the third pearl, clutching his hair and screaming his name loud enough to wake half the apartment complex. But he didn’t stop—he continued to draw the necklace out slowly, steadily, making sure each bead rubbed both her G-spot and her clit as it came out.

When the last pearl was removed she was still coming, still screaming. He rolled her onto her stomach and pushed into her from behind. Thrusting into her again and again, harder and harder, he rode her through the contractions rhythmically milking his cock. She felt his orgasm approaching and the tension magically built within her again. He twisted his hips, slammed into her at a new and different angle and she shot unexpectedly over the edge again. Then, and only then, did Gabe finally let himself go. He poured every ounce of himself inside her and she couldn’t help hoping, praying, that she could give him just a little of herself back.

Chapter Five

Gabe was asleep. He’d given her the most moving sexual experience of her life and now he was sprawled across her bed, snoring. Annalise snorted softly before gently untangling herself from the arm and leg he had draped over her in an effort to keep her in place. Like she’d ever give a man even that much control.

After slipping into a short, leopard-print robe, she headed toward the kitchen to mainline some caffeine. It was ten on a Sunday morning and she should have been sound asleep—particularly after the sexual marathon of the night before.

But her mind refused to quiet—every time she closed her eyes she saw herself sinking deeper and deeper into a nightmare she couldn’t escape from.

After filling the tank of the coffeemaker with water and switching it on, she sank onto one of her kitchen chairs to wait. Gabe wasn’t like Michael. She knew that, absolutely. She could never have been with him, even once, if he was.

But just because he wasn’t an amoral alley cat didn’t mean he wouldn’t eventually betray her. Already he’d gotten a foothold in her heart and mind, something no man had been able to do for eight long years. Not since she’d thrown whatever she could grab into a tattered duffle bag and climbed into her Chevy with no other plan than to get as far away from her fucked-up family life as she possibly could.

How could she ever face herself if she let a man rip her hard-won confidence to shreds? Again?

Annalise heard a sound behind her and whirled around, her body tensed for a battle she hadn’t had to fight in almost a decade. Thoughts of Michael invariably brought back the pain and anger, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth and a chill on her skin that she could normally escape.

“What are you doing up?” Gabe’s voice was husky with sleep, his eyes half-closed as he settled himself across the table from her.

Even dressed in boxer shorts and more than half-asleep, he was attuned enough to her to miss her. She had to fight the urge to take a bite out of all that inviting skin. It was the same color as her favorite treat—hot chocolate—and the desire to taste him, to drink him in, was almost overwhelming.

What was wrong with her? She was usually done with a lover the second he so much as intimated the L word—in her experience it brought nothing but pain. But with Gabe, something was different. Everything was different.

“Nothing,” she shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He raised one sardonic eyebrow. “I guess I didn’t do as good a job of tiring you out as I thought I did.” He reached a hand across the table and stroked her arm with one, gentle finger. “We could head back for round two.”

She snorted. “More like round fifteen. And even if I was up to it, I can’t see how you could be.”

His smile was almost mischievous. “You’d be surprised.”

She glanced down and was, indeed, surprised. How could he still have a partial erection? He’d come at least six times in the last six hours, not nearly as many as she had, but still. He was a guy in his late thirties—didn’t he know his body wasn’t supposed to be able to do that? “Holy shit,” she commented, reaching a hand out to touch, shocked by how hard he was. Again. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you, guys can’t do that?”

His shrug was self-deprecating. “Yeah, well, you bring out the beast in me.”

She twisted her hand around until her thumb rested on top of him. Then she began the slow, firm stroking she knew he liked. “Is that what I do?” she asked almost breathlessly as he arched into her hand once, twice, a third time.

“Annalise, stop.” His hand covered hers, tugged it away from his suddenly raging hard-on. “Come here.”

He pulled her up from her chair in one smooth motion. Before she knew it she was curled on his lap, her knees drawn up to her chin and his arms wrapped around her while he rocked her slowly. His chin rested on the top of her head and his hands, his gentle, wonderful hands, stroked her back through the thin fabric of her robe.

“You think too much,” he said quietly.

She glanced up at him in surprise. “Moi? I think you have me confused with someone else, sugar. I’m the original good-time girl. If it feels good, do it—that’s my motto.”

It was his turn to snort. “You wish.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She drew just far enough away to look up at him through her lashes.

“It means I’ve never known a thirty-four-year-old woman who knew so little about herself.”

She shoved him away—a knee-jerk reaction she couldn’t stop. “Don’t do this,” she said, her voice surprisingly small as she got up and reached for a coffee cup. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m not ruining anything,” he commented as he reached for her. “Why can’t you see that?”

She shook her head as she thrust a cup of coffee—black, one sugar—into his hands.

Since when did she care enough about a guy to remember how he took his coffee? The realization shook her up so much that she bobbled the coffeepot as she was pouring herself a cup. The outrageously hot brew streamed across her hand and the pain was so unexpected that she couldn’t move for a few, long seconds. Couldn’t stop pouring the coffee. Couldn’t stop the burn.

“Shit.” Gabe sprung to his feet and grabbed the mug and coffeepot away from her, even as he used his hips to guide her to the sink. “What are you doing to yourself?”

She looked at him, dazed, so lost in her own torturous thoughts that she barely registered the pain or the blisters quickly forming on her thumb and the top of her hand. “It’s nothing.”

He growled low in his throat, turning on the tap and thrusting her hand under the streaming cold water in one smooth movement. “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded as he held her hand under the water. “Do you really like suffering so much?”

“It’s all I know.” The words slipped out before she could censor them and hung there, between them, for long moments. She prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her—but it wasn’t to be. He was pressed firmly against her back, his arms around her while he kept her hand trapped under the running water. How was she ever going to turn and face him after that stupid admission?

She let out a half-hearted laugh. Followed it with a careless toss of her jet-black hair. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I’m just being my melodramatic self.”

“I think you knew exactly what you were saying.” His answer was grim as he reached into the cabinet above the sink for some Neosporin and a bandage. “When are you going to stop hurting yourself?”

They weren’t talking about her stupid little burn anymore. But she couldn’t admit—to him or herself—how close he’d come to the truth. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.” He covered her blisters with the Band-Aid and then headed to the bedroom without a backward glance.

“Where are you going?” she asked, ignoring the panic skating up her spine.

“To work.”

She entered her bedroom right behind him. “It’s Sunday.”

“Then I’m going home.” He pulled on the dress trousers he’d been wearing the night before. “Don’t ask me to sit around and watch you self-destruct. I can’t do that.”

“Now who’s being melodramatic?” she demanded, blocking the door when he would have barreled through it.

One look from those burning eyes seared her, and strangely, froze her in place. “This isn’t melodrama. It’s pain. I’m surprised you don’t recognize it—and my need to get as far away as possible.”

“I don’t run away.” She was insulted and it showed in her voice.

He snorted. “Well, you sure as hell don’t stick around.”

“This is my apartment. You’re the one running.”

He shook his head in disgust. “You were running even before you got out of bed this morning. You know it and so do I.”

The truth knocked the air from her lungs. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand plenty. I’ve been involved with you for three months, Annalise. You think I haven’t gotten to know you, the real you, despite your best intentions?” He snorted again. “Give me a break. I know you better than you know yourself.”

“That’s bullshit.” She was suddenly, inexplicably furious. How could he be saying these things to her? How could he mean them?

“You don’t believe that for a minute. If you did, you wouldn’t look so scared. When are you going to grow up and stop playing at being a badass?”

“I am a badass. You’re just too besotted to realize it.”

“You’ve got the most tender heart I’ve ever seen—you just hide it behind layers of protection so you can’t ever be hurt. Explain to me how that’s living, Annalise, because I just don’t get it.”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

Their eyes met for the first time since the argument began and all the fight seemed to drain out of Gabe. He looked…defeated, something she’d never seen from him before. “I guess it is.” He sank onto the bed and slipped his shoes on without bothering with socks. Then he stood and headed for the apartment door. “I’ll call you.”

“I’ll hold my breath.” There she was, the sarcastic inner bitch she’d spent so many years cultivating. Why had it taken her so long to show up this morning?

“Annalise.” For one moment his eyes softened and he reached for her. But she shrugged him off.

“Go home, Gabe. We’re done here.”

He turned on his heel and walked out without looking back once. He didn’t even have the courtesy to slam the door on his way out.

Her knees trembled and she slid slowly down the wall she’d been using to prop herself up ever since he’d said he was leaving. Well, she’d done it. She’d driven him away.

Good riddance, she decided, right before she rested her face on her knees and sobbed like a baby.

Chapter Six

It was a dreary Monday evening, following an equally dreary day. Rain pounded the pavement—a rarity for San Diego at this time of year—and everyone on the street was scrambling for some kind of cover. Except for her. Since Gabe had walked out of her apartment eight days before, she’d had a hard time getting excited about anything.