He must be joking, but of course, he looks drop-dead serious. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“It’s a practical one. I’ll sleep on the couch and take you to and from work.”
What he’s proposing is more dangerous to me than any worry over some wannabe stalker. “It could take days or longer. You can’t leave your grandfather.”
“I moved out for a while.”
“What?” I blink in disbelief.
“His friend is staying with him, and he has extra nursing visits.”
“But why would you move out? You’re so dedicated to him.”
“We needed space.”
I don’t buy that for one second. But with Stiles, I never get the full story, and that’s enough for me to hold firm. “You can’t stay here.” Under the same roof, sharing meals, and driving together every day, I won’t survive that. “I need proof, not protection. I’m not afraid of some preppy in shiny shoes who hides behind veiled threats.”
“Because you’re so damn tough.”
“I’m tough enough to handle Talon.”
“Show me. He’s about my height, not as big, but bigger than you.”
“I’m tired, Jasper.” I set down my glass, feeling spent from his mixed signals—he wants me, he wants menot.They fall around my heart like prickly petals.
“Come on,” he taunts, “let’s see how tough you really are.”
He feints a quick forward motion. I startle with a scream and instinctively grab what’s close at hand, which happens to be an orange. Okay, not much, but I lob it at him in an attempt to avoid being cornered in the kitchen and get to my bag with the canister of pepper spray. But Stiles ducks, and I don’t get a full foot away before he sweeps my feet from under me. I tumble to the floor in a sprawl. Quick and strong, he’s atop me in a flash, pinning my wrists to the hardwood on either side of my head.
Imprisoned, I snarl and twist, trying to buck him off, trying to get my knee up to ram it into his balls, but he does some trick with his lower half that captures my legs in a vice. I can’t move. I’m furious and helpless. Totally vulnerable and all too aware of him. I feel his body, hot and heavy against mine, the scent of cologne and worked-up man. We pause, staring at each other, our chests soughing.
“Damn you and the way you make me feel,” he hisses between his teeth. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. It would kill me. Do you fucking understand that?”
Stunned, I’m speechless in the moment before his mouth slams down on mine. All my anger, confusion, and any remnant of good sense collapse beneath the white-hot kiss that spears through me like a flaming torpedo.
Stiles releases his grip on my wrists to burrow his hands under the towel wrap, whipping it off, plowing his fingers through the damp strands to hold my head in place and plunder my mouth.
I arch into him without volition, my arms wrapping around his neck, feasting on the thrust of his tongue, seeking every taste.
His breaths explode, and, pushing up my top, his hands squeeze my breasts. There’s no gentleness. Just raw, rough passion. His fingers hook into the waistband of my shorts, and I lift my hips as he impatiently shoves down my bottoms. I kick them off my ankles. I hear his zipper next. Then he’s inside me—plunging, grinding, nailing me to the floor.
My hands clutch the sides of him, my fingers digging into the muscle—gripping, squeezing, the connection viciously intense, physically and emotionally. All of it heightened to an outrageous, devastating level. My legs come up and circle his waist. I absorb every hot, relentless thrust, drawing him deeper into my body—deeper into my heart—deeper into my soul.
I moan, right there on the precipice of coming apart. But the memory of how this started penetrates the dense haze of pleasure—Damn you and the way you make me feel. I love him. But he still doesn’t want to love me.
“Stop.” I cry against his shoulder. “I…I can’t.”
He stills.
I close my eyes against the tears leaking from the corners. “I can’t do this, Jasper. I can’t. I just can’t.”
He pulls out, and my lids lift to see his face ravaged with guilt. “Christ, I’m sorry.” He binds his arms tightly around me and buries his face in my hair. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely, apologizing over and over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”
Clinging together, tears rain down my cheeks. No shield or armor can hide the anguish in the way his body is trembling. Each apology is pained and gut-wrenching. They’re not just for me. I know that. They’re for her too. She’s always here, inside him, between us…and he won’t let her go.
“What happened, Jasper?” I whisper so low I don’t know if he hears me. “What happened to make you unable to love me?”
He shakes his head. He heard my question, but I won’t get an answer. He won’t even give me that.
