Shelter Me: A Shelter Novel (9 page)

I was shaking slightly.

And I wanted to take all my clothes off. And his. "I'm not sure I've ever been more turned on in my life," I admitted.

He nodded, his eyes hooded. "Fucking and fighting aren't far apart at all. Some say it's all the same emotion."

I'd never connected the two, but the way my heart was beating, adrenaline racing through my blood, like my nervous system was on an all-out assault…

No, the two weren't far apart at all. "One's more satisfying."

One side of his mouth lifted in a slight grin. "You've never really fought to win, then." He poured a glass of scotch I assumed was for him but he pushed it at me. I downed it quickly, enjoying the burn. "I'm sorry, Ryn."

"For what? For saving me from a bunch of thugs?" I handed him the glass, waited until he put it down before pulling him down to me and kissing him, split lip be damned. I tasted the metallic tang of blood, let my mouth swallow his groan. I ground against him. "Why is it okay when you fight?"

"I don't know—it just is, okay?"

"It shouldn't be," I insisted.

"I'll keep that in mind next time three guys try to jump us. I'll let you save me."

"Fuck you."

"That's how I was hoping the night would go." He pulled back from me reluctantly and I let him. My body needed him, but we'd somehow become strangers. We
were
strangers. Something triggered in me and I didn't know how to handle it. And it wasn't like I could explain it to him, but somehow, he sensed it. All of it.

"What the fuck's going on with you? You started to tell me before we were interrupted."

"I painted Meghan today," I blurted out, because it was suddenly obvious that he didn't know anything about it. "A nude." He stared at me like I was from another planet. "She bought me—a portrait session at an auction. Brayden made me do it to rehab my image."

"Brayden thought painting Meghan nude would rehab your image?"

"He didn't think that far ahead."

"He doesn't know Meghan the way I do," he muttered, then
tilted his head and looked at me. "You knew you had to paint her last night, when we talked."

Right. Um…
"Yes."

"Yes?" His brows raised. "You know I could've put a stop to it then, right?"

"And made me look like a jerk to the charity committee. You know there was no way out. You weren't even in the city."

"There's always a way out," he growled. "I could've called in my bid. I would've bought the commission."

"And I would've painted you nude?" I attempted a joke, but he wasn't laughing, was dead serious when he said, "Yes. So now you owe me."

"I owe
you
?"

"Yes," he said calmly. "For several things—you said so yourself."

I had. "You left without calling."

He frowned slightly. "I won't do that again."

"Why did you?"

"You didn't seem like you wanted me to bother you. I knew you'd call if you needed me. That's the way you seemed to want it."

"But if I'd called you…" I trailed off. He didn't bother to answer—he didn't have to. He already had with his actions.

Dammit.

He took a step closer. "I'm who you see, Ryn. I'm a moody, goddamned pain in the ass who'd drop everything at a moment's notice for you. And you know that. Think I've let a lot of women toy with me that way?"

I shook my head.

"Good. Stop second-guessing me. Don't play games. I don't. If you need to talk, call me."

"You needed me the other night—"

"And I called," he reminded me. "I wanted to call a lot more, but I know your work's important to you."

"I don't know how to do this."

"I just told you how. Don't complicate it."

"Fine."

"Are we done talking?" he asked as he started to unbutton his shirt. "Because you owe me a painting."

"You really want me to paint you?"

"You said you wanted to," he reminded me, his shirt open to expose his chest. Big. Broad. Abs looked painted on. But he was also scarred, evidence of a difficult life lived, of secrets I had yet to know about. But I wanted to know.

Definitely.

I brushed my thumbs over his cheekbones, ran them over his jawline.
Brutally handsome.

The urge to take him to bed immediately flooded my body at the same time the urge to paint kicked in. Stupid cockblocking muse.

The other night had been about slaking a need, for both of us. Tonight, I wanted to look. Stare. And Lucas was going to let me.

I chose painting. "Fine. Everything off."

"One condition."

"Backing out already, Lucas?"

"Never, sweetheart. But I think you should give as good as you get. I want you naked too."

I stared at him, trying to decide if he was really just crazy or what. "Why would I do that?"

"Gives me something to look at."

I was far from shy and he'd seen me naked anyway. Defiantly, I pushed the thin straps of my dress off my shoulder, one after the other unceremoniously. The dress puddled at my feet and I stepped out of it toward him. And I climbed him—he held me up with zero effort. I wrapped myself around him, naked to his fully clothed as the heat swelled and the idea of painting him faded into the background.

Things were good. But the violence of the fight was still unsettling me, reminding me of the danger all around me. "Lucas…how can this work?"

"Seems to be working fine already."

"People will talk."

"Let them."

But he knew as well as I did that a hint of favoritism could turn public opinion against me. This could be the kiss of death for my fledgling career.

A career you didn't want
, I reminded myself. Because, as Brayden said, I'd always have the work. No one could take that pleasure from me, unless I let them.

Unless I delved into my past and the painting faded. "This has to wait…"

"Until after you paint."

"Until after I paint," I agreed.

"I can handle it if you can."

That was definitely a dare, and one I wasn't sure I'd win. But I'd be damned if I didn't try. I peeled off him and motioned for him to lie down as I said, "Make yourself comfortable."

"Not going to pose me?"

"I have a feeling it will be more interesting if you pose yourself."

He shrugged easily. "Have it your way." He made quick work of shrugging his shirt off his shoulders and stripping his pants. Naked, he grabbed a magazine and lay down on the couch in one fluid motion, comfortable as hell and unfazed by the attention. He had one arm folded under his head. The other was resting close to his cock, which was half hard and growing by the second. I bit my lip to keep focused, and let the sexual energy ramp up the drawing.

I had to force myself back to reality by grabbing for my supplies before I jumped onto the couch and back onto him.

I started off with charcoals, rolling the black sticks between my fingers to warm them—letting them smudge my fingers as I stared at him.

There were a few wrong starts. I ripped the paper off the pad viciously, because I knew what was wrong. I was too close. I was thinking about Lucas rather than letting the beast take over.

When I finally stopped being self-conscious, the sketch flowed, faster than I thought possible.

Suddenly, I'm thinking about the fight again, the danger, the way Lucas took care of those men like a warrior fighting to protect me. Instead of waning the way it often did after I'd finished working, the adrenaline surged through me like a driving need.

Lucas's eyes still held the same feral, dangerous hunger they had since the fight. I'd captured it in my sketch but it could never compare to the real-life version that currently stalked his way over to me.

And I wanted to be caught.

That driving need propelled me into his arms again, fully able to give myself over to this kind of satisfaction.

"You're goddamned beautiful, Ryn." His voice was a growl. "Watching you like that…a fucking gift."

He covered my mouth with his, and my arms wound around his shoulders. He lifted me like I weighed nothing, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. His arousal was hard against my belly, but Lucas wasn't in a rush. His mouth went to my neck and I arched against him as he scraped the sensitive flesh with his teeth.

No longer stretched between the need to create and the need for him, I could give myself wholly over to this. Moans of satisfaction I couldn't help escaped from the back of my throat.

It was mouths exploring, hands and fingers skimming as Lucas walked me over to the couch. He laid me on it, his mouth taking my nipples and sucking hard as heat speared through me.

As he drove inside me, his mouth came down hungry on mine. A hand buried in my hair, keeping me close. Our need fed off each other’s, making us both insatiable.

My skin was far too sensitive and the build of my orgasm was a powerful, surging rush. I convulsed, clamped around him as he pulled my hips tight against his.

Slick heat, absorbing the sensation of his orgasm, letting my sex stroke him dry. Watching him lose control because of me.

He rested his forehead against my shoulder. His skin was slick with sweat, binding us together.

I didn't want to release him. I kept my trembling legs wrapped around him by sheer will. And he was still hard inside me.

* * *

W
e lay
, tangled, the cool fall air drifting over our naked bodies from an opened window in the kitchen. I shivered and he grabbed for the blanket we'd knocked to the ground, wrapping us up.

"When do I get to see my picture?"

"When it goes on sale," I said innocently. "You need to stand next to it, holding a sign that says, 'Objects appear larger than they truly are.'"

He rolled his eyes. "The smile on your face says otherwise."

"Because you know me so well."

His tone got serious then. "Yes, Ryn. I do."

"How can you be so sure about me—about us?"

"I've always followed my gut, same as you," Lucas pointed out. "For some reason, you're hiding from it."

Because I'm terrified of putting you in danger.
But I couldn't bring myself to say that, and my throat felt tight and painful, making anything but a small shrug impossible.

His arms tightened around me. His warm breath grazed my ears, and then his teeth tugged my earlobe. I shivered, melted against him, my body showing me exactly where my instincts were, and all of them pushing me farther into Lucas's arms…and his world.

I never wanted to leave. "Keep me safe."

He pulled back and stared. "Try and stop me."

I
didn't remember falling
asleep, hadn't wanted to lose any more precious time with Lucas, but I woke with him straining at the sheets next to me, writhing quietly in what appeared to be the throes of a nightmare.

I was far too familiar with it. Gingerly, I began to move away so he wouldn't flail against me. I wasn't worried about being hit but I figured he'd be upset if he did so, even unintentionally. And then I began to call to him in a low, soothing voice, attempting to bring him back to present day and company.

Finally, he started to pull himself out of it. When he opened his eyes and sat up with a start, I moved closer to him and murmured, "Hey, it's me. You're okay. You're awake now and everything's okay."

He blinked hard a few times and looked around.

"We're at my place," I added and after half a second he nodded, acknowledging me before muttering, "Shit. Sorry."

"That's okay. Happens to me all the time."

Immediately, he was far more alert than he'd been seconds before, his gaze focused on me. "You have a lot of nightmares?"

My alarm bells were ringing quietly but that didn't stop me from agreeing with a nod. Then I added, "Everyone in my life has nightmares. I thought they were normal."

"That's so fucking sad." Lucas ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, and then he laughed and I did too, because I realized how utterly ridiculous it sounded, truth or not.

And it was the truth. I got up from the bed and grabbed a washcloth. I wet it and cooled him down with it, starting with his face and moving to his neck and shoulders, and he let me, sitting stiffly and finally letting out a long sigh.

When I finished, he asked, "Brayden has a lot of nightmares?"

"Sometimes." I stared at him. "Do you?"

"I don't actually sleep a lot." Which translated to 'yes' in my mind. "Definitely not with a woman."

"I'm sure there's been a parade of them," I said dryly.

He didn't try to deny it. "I have a past, Ryn. But you're my future."

"I like hearing that."

"Good. Get used to it."

I decided to push my luck.
"Do I get to know about your past?" I left off the 'with women' part of the sentence, but Lucas wasn't stupid.

"What do you want to know?" His tone was unguarded but his body language wasn't.

"You've been in love."

"Yes," he said, almost cautiously. Of course, I'd wanted him to say no. "I mean, as much as I could've been."

"You were young?"

"Young enough to not know better," he admitted. "It was long distance."

"But you still remember her."

"I thought she was the one," he said quietly, and I was immediately, unrepentantly jealous.

"Where is she now?" I asked, hoping I was managing to keep the slight edge out of my voice.

"Far away."

"Is it bad that I'm relieved by that?"

"It's not something I want you to worry about," he told me.

"But you loved her."

He smiled. "I didn't know her, but I wanted to."

"You connected. I understand." I pointed to my
Man in Trees
portraits. "That's what those are about."

His eyes had a faraway look in them when he said, "Someone you wanted to love."

I nodded, stopping just short of saying, 'Someone I do.' But I was staring at him, saying that with my eyes about both the man in the pictures and him. Out loud, I simply said, "Yes," then melted against him.

"I guess we've both been through it," he murmured.

"Seems that way." He knew nothing, really, about my past, no more than the rest of the world did. But I think he knew there was more to the story. It wouldn't interest him, not with the same morbid, tabloid-like curiosity it would the rest of the world. He'd want to know how best to protect me.

The best way to protect him was to keep him away from me. God, how fucked up this all was…and how amazing at the same time.