Race the Darkness (21 page)

In one fluid movement he rose over her, positioned himself at her core, and slid home. Home. She was his home. So hot. So tight. So…right. Being with her wasn't about fulfilling his body's craving for release. Being with her was about fulfilling himself, becoming the man he was meant to be. The man she made him.

“Xan—oh God.”

Her orgasm pulsed against his dick, urging him to fuck her. Really fuck her. But this was sweet. Too sweet for hard fucking.

“Over. Roll over.” She gasped the words, but he didn't understand language anymore. Only sensation existed. Her heat wrapped around him. Her body sliding against his.

Somehow his body submitted to her will and he found himself on his back, her riding his dick with gusto and strength.

She fucked him. Fucked him with her head flung back, body pumping against his, taking all of him—body, heart, and soul. It was a goddamn beautiful thing.

Tension built in his balls. He gritted his teeth, trying to contain the mounting explosion. He wanted to give her more. Give her everything. She slid herself down his shaft, and he touched heaven. All his fancy-assed ideas about control vanished. He grabbed her hips, thrusting up while she slammed down. Their rhythm messy and frantic and perfect.

“Xander. Xander. Xander.”

His
fucking name on her lips while she came triggered his own orgasm. Cum burst from his balls, and he ground against her while pleasure ripped through him.

He collapsed boneless, as the aftershocks of what they'd done gently hummed through him. She slumped forward on his chest with him still inside her. Not that he minded. He could live an entire lifetime right here and die a happy man.

A sweet giggle of dazed satisfaction came from her. He chuckled too. Being with her, he felt something he'd never had before.

Happiness.

A thump.

A moan.

Xander bolted upright in bed, his hearing on hyper-alert for Isleen. Had he been sleeping? Must've been. He heard the rapid rhythm of her breathing coming from downstairs. That thump, that moan had come from her. He knew it.

“Isleen?” He called loud enough to be heard throughout the cabin and got out of bed.

Evening sunshine shimmered through the bedroom window, splashing russet rays around the room and giving the atmosphere a lazy, timeless quality.

Bzzz.
His cell phone vibrated against the nightstand.

Kent calling
lit up the display.

Fuck the phone.

From the top of the stairs, the entire living room was visible. Isleen huddled on the floor, clutching her head and rocking. Xander flew down the stairs, feet barely touching the steps. Another dream. Only this time he hadn't been there to wake her up.

“Baby, you'll feel better in a minute. Just hold on.” He slid in next to her, laying his hands on top of hers.

A great sigh of relief slipped from her lips. Coolness swelled over him. A tingle and zing started in his palms and moved up his arms to his shoulders and then spread out from there. Holy wow. It felt so good and right and oddly satisfying to do this for her, like it was his soul's destiny to ease her suffering. To heal her.

His phone, still upstairs, started vibrating again. The guy was going to have to wait.

Isleen slipped her hands out from beneath his, but he continued to hold her head, weaving his fingers into her hair. She scooted in closer and closer until she crawled up on his lap, straddling his hips and latching on to him like a baby monkey. And still he didn't let go of her.

“What's it feel like to take my pain away?” Her voice sounded wobbly, and he felt dampness on his bare chest. She was crying, and it cut a chunk out of his heart that she had to endure any pain. If he could, he'd take all the hurt away from her, gladly shoulder her burden, and make it his to bear.

“It's cool and feels good in a way. Almost the same way it feels good to scratch an itch.”

She lapsed into quiet, more of her tears wetting his skin. More of his heart wept for her having to go through this.

“How's your head now? Are you feeling tired, dizzy, disoriented?”

“My head is good. I think I'm all right.” She spoke as if a sob clogged her throat.

He let go of her head and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her so hard against him that air whooshed out of her. “Tell me about the dream. You'll feel better.” He nuzzled his cheek against her hair.

She pulled back from him. Her eyelashes were spiky from wetness, her eyes bloodshot and glistening. And yet courage and determination sharpened her beauty. “It was the worst one.”

Nnkk. Nnkk.
A knock sounded at front door.

“Fucking goddamn it.” Probably Kent at the door. The guy had said he'd stop by this evening with his cream-puff canine. Xander stood, still holding her body to his. He ought to walk to the door and open it just like they were—to show the asshole on the other side that he'd been interrupting—but that might embarrass Isleen. He settled her on her feet and held on to her for a few extra seconds to make certain she was steady.

Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk.
The asshole on the other side of the door started knocking again.

She clung to him like she was afraid of letting go.

“Xander?” She'd only spoken his name, but he heard so much more. He heard her fear, her hesitation, and her caring. Such a strange combination.

“Baby, what?” He rubbed his hands up and down her back, wishing his touch could infuse her with everything she needed to feel good.

Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk. Nnkk.
More pounding on the door.

She released him, stepping away from him and smiling, but it wasn't a real smile. It was one of those fake ones that only touched her mouth, not her eyes or her soul. The smile looked sad and scared and stubborn all at the same time.

Something was wrong. Only he didn't understand. Was it the dream?

Nnkk. Nnkk. Nn
—“I'll be there in a second,” he bellowed loud enough that Isleen flinched and Row probably heard him down at the main house. That persistent fucker on the other side of the door was about to meet Xander's fist.

“Let me get rid of this asshole.” He stalked to the door, nearly ripping it off the hinges.

Kent held his mini-mutt, and—of fucking course—Camille stood right next to him. Kent just couldn't leave the Camille issue alone.

Hopkins stood behind them, looking on the verge of pissin' in his pants. The guy was a BCI agent, for shit's sake, and petrified of a little interpersonal conflict? Where did they find these assholes? Probably the same place they'd found Xander. Rejects-R-Us.

“Seriously? You're pulling this again?” His volume wasn't quite in the shout range, but close.

“What?” Kent's voice carried false innocence, his expression phony concern.

Xander wasn't going to flip the switch and listen to Kent's thoughts. No way. Not today. He didn't need the aggravation on top of everything else.

Isleen moved in next to Xander, wrapping her arm around his waist and leaning in to his bare chest. Her actions were a clear sign of ownership. He was hers. And he didn't mind at all. A smile spread across his lips, stretching the skin of his scarred cheek.

“You fucked him?” Camille's face morphed into a mask of ugly jealousy.

“I told you that the last time we talked.” Isleen wasn't intimidated by Camille. Not even a little bit. “You chose to not believe me.”

Kent's mouth fell open, and damn if Xander didn't feel his own jaw hanging slack. Isleen had told Camille they'd been together? Whoa. Isleen had a giant pair of girlnads.

“You know”—Camille's tone was abnormally calm—“he's only with you because he feels sorry for you.”

“Cam—” Kent's voice was full of rebuke.

Xander slid his arm around Isleen, telling her with his actions that Camille was wrong. “Don't talk to Isleen like that.” He spoke slowly to give the words time to penetrate Camille's concrete skull.

“Camille, I can see that you are having trouble adjusting to this situation.” Isleen's tone carried no anger, no malice. “I understand. I know the kind of man Xander is, so I know what you're losing. I feel bad that you are hurting.”

“You feel bad that I'm hurting?” Camille's voice rose to a she-demon screech. She lunged for Isleen. Xander stepped between them, blocking her path.

“Cam. What the hell?” Kent shoved the dog at Hopkins, then grabbed his sister from behind, hauling her down the porch steps. She struggled and screamed terrible things at Isleen. “Stop it. Right now. If you don't get yourself under control you're going to get arrested.”

Those seemed to be Camille's magic words. She went limp, all anger and hostility gone.

“Take her home.” Xander pointed to Kent's truck. “And don't bring her back.”

Isleen moved in next to him again. “Xander, I need to talk to Kent about my case. He needs to know about the priest. Maybe you should take Camille home. She shouldn't be here right now. It's not good for anyone.”

“You need to talk to Kent?” He parroted her, couldn't think of anything else to say.

“Just about my case.” Isleen seemed sincere, so why did he have a suspicion in his heart that everything good in his life was about to get flushed down the shitter? She reached up to his neck and tugged his face down to hers. She kissed him, her lips sweet and cool, and if emotion could pass through the barrier of skin, he swore he felt her complete devotion. But still something didn't jive.

Or was that all in his head? He had zero relationship experience. All he knew was what little he'd had with Isleen. Was he smothering her? Was this her way of getting a bit of space? There shouldn't be anything wrong with leaving her to drive Camille home. Not that he wanted to leave Isleen, but it would give him a chance to apologize to Camille. And nothing bad could happen while he was gone. Kent and Hopkins would see to that.

He shrugged into a shirt and nabbed his keys from the dish by the door.

“Don't you let her out of your sight,” he said to Kent. The guy nodded, and for all the shit between them, Xander trusted him with this. “I'll be gone thirty minutes. Not one second longer.”

“I'll be here,” Isleen said.

So why did he feel like he was about to lose her?

* * *

Camille's perfectly composed face slipped and fell. She didn't cry, bawl, or scream, but pain sank into her features. It hurt to watch. Xander didn't say anything, just opened his truck's door, waited while she climbed in, and then jogged to the driver's side.

Isleen stood in the yard, cradling Kent's mini-mutt to her chest and smiling so sweetly that Xander stopped and couldn't move. Behind her, the sun had already slipped into the horizon, shooting shades of molten fire across the sky. The image of Isleen and the sky together was epic, the kind of vision that inspired people to write songs of love and beauty and the fear of loss.

He wished he had a camera to capture the grace of the moment. He settled for staring at her while she scratched the dog's ears, memorizing the way the light made her hair glow golden, her skin luminescent, and her lips deeply rose, begging to be kissed. She looked up, catching him watching her. The smile she gave him carried enough wattage to keep his happy sensors running on full power for the rest of his life. Damn.

She lifted her hand and waved a carefree gesture, then used the dog's paw to wave at him too. He waved back, but deep in his gut, a worm of warning latched on and began feeding on his happiness, reminding him that good things never happened to him. She could be in danger.

Someone had been in her hospital room and left that cross on her head. A priest had killed Gale. That same someone might be after Isleen. She should be safe here with Kent and Hopkins. Two guards on her. Another guard at the main house and one at the end of the driveway. That was four trained agents watching out for her. But there were no guarantees in life.

Okay, maybe he was being a bit paranoid, not to mention jealous of anyone besides him spending time with her.

She had wanted to talk to Kent. She had wanted Xander to take Camille home. And he wanted to make her happy. He would deny her nothing.

The solution: Be fucking quick about it.

He got in the truck.

“Why did you fuck her? What can she give you that I can't? Why didn't you tell me you lived here? I thought you lived at the other house with your family and that was why you never invited me over.” Her quiet questions rushed him like a linebacker. At least she wasn't trying to rip his face off. “Why? I don't understand any of this.”

He started the truck, tore a swath through the gravel, and sped down the driveway. Pain slammed into his head. A breathy grunt escaped his lips. The frequency connection opening. Fucking damn. It'd been a while since he'd actually felt that pain. Then again, it'd been awhile since he wasn't either with Isleen or near her. Another reason that being away from her made no sense. She took away his pain and gave him control over his hyper-hearing.

I feel so stupid. But how could you be with me all that time, and it was only ever about sex? Ten years. Ten years of my life. How could that just be about sex?

“I could ask you the same question.” She jerked from him answering her thoughts. It was too fucking difficult to respond to only the oral shit. “You never made demands, and I never gave explanations.” He worked on keeping his tone soft, because his words were harsh and his head pounded.

He whipped the truck out onto the highway and sped toward town. Headlights from an oncoming vehicle pulsed with the throbbing in his head. He rubbed his temple. Three minutes away from Isleen felt like three years in a torture chamber.

“It was about more than sex to me.”
It was an investment.

“But it wasn't about love. You don't love me. We were two lonely people craving human contact to ease our isolation. I needed someone who didn't judge me and accepted me without strings. You gave that freely to me. I appreciate you for that.” He glanced at her. He'd never seen her look so forlorn and lost. “I am sorry your feelings are hurt. I wish I would've done things differently so we could've avoided this.”

Love? I don't need love. I can picture us in that house living together.

“You deserve to be happy, to be loved. To be someone's everything.” And, wow, did he understand that now. “You are a beautiful, passionate woman. There is someone out there for you.” He almost couldn't believe the words coming out his mouth. When did he turn into a relationship expert?

She stared out the windshield. “Do you love her?”

Love.
That was a word that hadn't existed in his vocabulary until recently, and yet something about it and Isleen being paired in the same sentence felt honest and true. Maybe he was a pussy, but the first thing he was going to do when he got home was tell Isleen he loved her. He'd never said those words to another person in all his life, and now he was as excited as a kid with a secret to share. “I do love her.” And fucking damn, he was half tempted to turn the truck around and race back to her. He needed to be near her. Life felt wrong without her.

Camille gasped and flinched as if his words had bitch-slapped her. “You just met her. You can't love her. You don't even know her. You have to be confused.”
What's wrong with you?

“You don't need me. You don't need any man. You're a strong, powerful woman.”

He sped into town, not caring about speed laws, only caring about getting her out of his truck and getting back to Isleen.

What does she have that I don't? Just tell me and I'll change. I'll be what you want me to be.