The Virgin: Revenge (8 page)

Remember…?”

Remember…

I swallowed against the knot in my throat as memory practically assailed me. There had

been a time…

Stop. Don’t think about that.

“This is very much unnecessary,” I said, tugging my foot.

He applied firm pressure to the arch and a groan erupted out of me. “Sounds like it is

necessary.”

“My feet hurt,” I said sourly. “That doesn’t mean
you
need to rub them.”

“So you don’t want me touching you?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I…”

The denial locked in my throat.

“That’s hardly the point,” I said, forcing the words out. “It’s not appropriate.”

A grin, dark and wicked, slashed across his lips. “It’s a foot rub. Inappropriate would

be…” His voice trailed off and he looked away. “Perhaps we shouldn’t discuss that. But if you

want me to stop…?”

He paused.

I continued to stare at him, my heart racing, my breathing ragged.

Just a foot rub.

Slowly, I relaxed. “Just a foot rub.”

He resumed that wonderful touch and I could have whimpered, could have moaned. I

almost melted into a puddle on the seat. As he shifted his attention to my other foot, it dawned

on me that I was practically sprawled on the seat now, my feet in his lap, my head against the

side of the car, my weight half propped on my elbow.

“I’m disappointed, Shannon,” he said, a sad sigh escaping him.

Something cold trickled down my back.

“What?”

I went to pull my feet away. Was this some sort of test? The jerk—

He tightened his hold on my ankle, shrugging as he watched me out of the corner of his

eye. “I was sort of hoping you’d ask what the inappropriate things are. I left it wide open

there. I thought perhaps you’d ask what I was referring to.”

Nerves skittered. Bloomed. Staring at him, I tugged on my feet, insistent this time and

he let go. Curling up in the corner of the seat, watching him, I shook my head. “A foot rub is

harmless enough, right? No reason to worry about anything else. You’re my boss and—”

In my mind, I saw how I’d like for this to play out. He would shift to his knees on the

floor in front of me. Then he would kiss me. Maybe he’d say something.
Tell me I shouldn’t
.

But if he tried, I doubted I would say anything at all. Because it was something I’d

wanted for ten years.

He didn’t move. The car glided to a smooth stop and his gaze shifted past my shoulder

to the window. “It looks like we’re here. I’ll walk you up.”

His hand rested at the base of my spine. Through the thin silk of my dress, I was almost

excruciatingly aware of that touch, the warmth of his hand, how his thumb stroked, almost

absently over my spine as we mounted the steps.

In my right hand, I gripped my keys. In my left, I carried my shoes, those pretty,

sparkly, strappy heels that had looked wonderful on me but felt like sheer torture as the

evening went on. Under the soles of my feet, the paved stones of the walk were smooth and

cool. Overhead, the brilliant lights of the city lit the sky.

And next to me, Gallagher walked and waited, a patient, quiet presence.

Waiting for something. I didn’t know what. But there was something. I could feel it,

like one of my pretty, sparkling shoes had yet to drop.

I wanted to turn around and yell at him, tell him to say what he had to say and then get

his ass back in the car.

I turned to tell him to do just that, and then I noticed.

The car was no longer waiting at the curb.

My gut tightened and I clutched my keys tighter while my heart knocked against my

ribs.

“Where is Jake?”

“I told him to drive around the block. I’ll give him a call shortly.” He reached for the

keys I held clutched too tightly in my fist and took them from me, fitting one expertly to the

lock, without even needing to search for the right one. For some reason, that just irritated me

more.

As he unlocked the deadbolt, I wrapped my arms around myself and managed not to

shiver. The night had turned cool, but there wasn’t enough bite in the air to justify needing a

wrap. I hated to carry one and I always forgot them anyway. He turned to me, the dim light

painting that deep red hair of his nearly black. “After you,” he said, his voice low.

“You don’t need to see me in.”

He cocked a brow. “Perhaps there is something I need to discuss with you.”

Barely, I managed to keep from curling my lip at him. Just barely. I slid inside and

disarmed the alarm as he shut the door behind me. My heart hammered in my chest, that silly,

foolish little fantasy settling in my mind again. Him kneeling before me, his mouth on mine.

Another kiss.

His body pressed to mine.

Him fulfilling that promise he’d made all those years ago.

Hurtful words undone. Could that happen? Could we go back to who we had been on

the beach, him a too-solemn, serious young man and me a foolish, hopeful girl who hadn’t had

her heart, her dreams, her world smashed, all within the span of a couple of months?

Perhaps if I reached for him, took what I’d wanted then, if he’d let me, I could find some

small piece of that girl I’d been. And some
peace
. I’d never forget the misery of the months that followed, the loneliness of the years that came later. The loss would still be there, as would the

shattered dreams, the awful nightmares, mornings when I woke to the sound of my own

choked screams. But if I could find…closure…yes. That was what I needed. Was this why I

was here?

Was
that
why I had come here, seeking him?

What would closure give me
, I wondered.
The loss will be there. The pain will not fade. And
everything he took from you will still be his.

No. I didn’t need closure. I needed to end this, because this would solve nothing.

Taking a deep, bracing breath, I turned.

And the breath stuttered out of me as I found him just scant inches away, his face lost in

the shadows. “Mr. Gallagher,” I said, his name catching on my lips.

“Drake.” He reached up, flicked a lock of hair behind my ear.

My heart skittered inside my chest and the ache within me spread.

“Drake. I--”

“You didn’t ask what the inappropriate things are,” he murmured, moving even closer,

until even the
thought
of personal space died. I could feel the heat of him, so close, warming my skin. Under the silk of my dress and the strapless bra I wore, my breasts ached, feeling too full,

while my nipples went tight. And my thighs felt like putty. Leaning back against the table, I

braced my weight on my hands and tried to pierce the darkness to better see his face.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You never asked,” he said, his heat crowding in around me, his scent flooding my head

and it was like I was lost. Again. Lost in the time, years ago, when life was simple and easy

and sweet. When things made sense and there was no pain. Just me, just him, and the promise

of the life I’d thought would be mine.

He reached up and cupped my cheek, so close that all I could see was the gleam of his

eyes. “Is this inappropriate, Shan?” he murmured, his mouth just a whisper away, our breaths

mingling.

A warning alarm sounded in my head.

“I—”

“What about this?” He curved one hand over my waist, tugged me closer. “I’m almost

positive this is. But you know what?”

He pressed his mouth to mine. “I don’t give a flying fuck.”

And just then, neither did I.

I opened for him, shuddering as his tongue stroked across my lips and then, with calm

assurance, he took my mouth and I swayed against him. Curling my fingers into his jacket, I

realized I had no idea what it was like to be lost.
This
, here,
this
was lost. Lost in the heat of his kiss, the heat of his body and the pleasure of his touch as he slid his hand up my back and

tangled it in my hair.

He wrapped his free arm around me and boosted me onto the table at my back. It was

hip-height, long and narrow and as he settled me on it, I realized I paid far too little attention to

it when I purchased it. Was it sturdy enough for this? Just then, I didn’t care. As long as I

could stay right here, nothing else mattered.

His mouth left mine, his tongue flicking at the corner of my mouth, his lips brushing

along my cheek before he caught my earlobe between his teeth. “Still so sweet, Shan. You still

taste so fucking good,” he whispered, his voice a low, rough croon in my ear as he angled my

head back, tugging on my hair until he had me where he wanted me. Then his tongue was

tracing along my lips once more, pushing into my mouth and I couldn’t stop shuddering,

couldn’t stop shaking. I caught his tongue between my teeth and bit down, just a bit, and felt

like flying when he growled against me, yanked me closer and started to rock, the solid length

of his cock a brand between my legs.

Through my panties, I could feel him. And I felt myself as well, wet and slick and so

ready for him.

Now. That was all I could think. Finally, now.

“Shan…”

That warning, again. Turning into a scream.

His hand tangled in my hair, tugged my head back and he moved to my throat, his teeth

scraping along, sending delightful little shivers through me. He’d done that before. I’d always

loved it. He’d do that, whisper my name…

My name.

Son of a bitch.

Sucking in a breath, I gathered up strength and shoved him away.

“You bastard.”

He stumbled backward, his hair falling into his eyes as he stared at me.

“What?”

“Odd time to decide you remember me.”

A weird little grin crooked his lips. “Who said I just now remembered?” He moved

back and when I would have tried to slip off the table to get away, he bracketed me in place

with his arms. My body shuddered, trembled at his nearness. His lips brushed my ear as he

murmured, “The second I saw your name on the list of candidates, I knew who you were. The

only questions
I
had was why you were trying to get a job in my company, and whether you

knew who were going to be working for. If you got the job. But you knew. That’s why you

applied. I saw it the minute you looked at me.”

I tensed, fought the urge to look away as he lifted up, his piercing gaze cutting right

through me. I said nothing. He was right, of course. But nothing could make me
admit
that.

“Why?” he asked, catching a lock of my hair and wrapping it around his finger. “Tell

me, Shan. Why did you want this job? What do you want from me?”

Tell him
.

I fought the urge to sneer at him, fought the urge to blush. Fought the urge to turn away

so he wouldn’t see the blush creeping up my neck to stain my cheeks a horrible, awful red. I

could feel it, that burning blush that made my skin feel two sizes too small.

Worse, I could still feel the need inside me. That burning, aching need and I knew if my

brain hadn’t clicked on, if I hadn’t started to
think
, I would probably still be wrapped around him, clutching at him.

And I’d know. I’d have the answer, I’d know what I’d missed all these years. I kind of

hated my brain in that moment.

What would he do, I wondered, if I reached down, cupped him through his trousers,

stroked him. Told him that I wanted what he’d made me want ten years ago. What I’d

dreamed about ever since. What he’d do if I told him that I couldn’t have another man because

everyone I looked at came up short. The kind ones might fill the void left by loneliness but

none of them filled the emptiness inside me.

Silent, I stared at him.

Slowly, he backed away. He must have seen something on my face, something that

warned him, or clued in him that too much of me had changed. An assessing look entered his

eyes and he tucked his hands into his pockets as he continued to study me, like he was taking

me in, piecing together all changes, subtle and otherwise, that he might have overlooked.

But the biggest changes lie within, and I wouldn’t let him see those.

“Just why are you here?” he asked, his voice soft, wondering.

For some reason, it set a chill running through me. I don’t understand why. But I didn’t

let my discomfort show as I shrugged. “I need a job. Isn’t that why most people work?”

“This wasn’t what you wanted to do with your life, Shan.” He shook his head, never

taking his eyes from me.

“Shannon,” I bit off. Shan no longer existed. We’d buried her, the day we buried my

father. Before that, most likely.

“Plans change.” I gave him an easy shrug as I scooted off the table and struggled to

adjust my dress. “Mine changed drastically that summer and this is the road my life put me on.

Besides, you have to admit, I’m good at what I do.”

“Yes. You are. Almost too good.” He continued to study me. He started to pace around

me in a circle. I turned with him, refusing to let him out of my sight. “You’re angry. I knew

you were—I’d seen it before, even though you kept it hidden. You’re not bothering now. It

was business, Shan. I…” He stopped, stared out the window. “I could be a total ass and say it

was never anything more than business, but that changed after the first two or three times you