She smiled up at him.
Brushing his lips against hers, he whispered, “I love you. I’m always going to love you.”
Then, without giving her a chance to reply, he crushed his mouth to hers. She groaned into his kiss as he pressed against her. He growled deep in his throat as she yielded to him.
Heat to heat…softness to strength. It was bliss. It was everything. She arched upward against him, a sob catching in her throat. It was the sweetest sound, he was certain. But then she whispered his name, and he thought perhaps that was the sweetest…
Hooking his arms under hers, he caught her head in his hand, held her steady as he kissed her. “I love you,” he whispered. “Always.”
It didn’t matter if she didn’t say it back, he told himself. It didn’t matter. Because he had this, one last night. Something he hadn’t thought he’d have. No matter what he’d said about not letting her go, he couldn’t make her stay if she didn’t love him and he knew it. But he had tonight and he had her.
She whimpered into his mouth even as the slick, wet walls of her sex clenched around him, tight and soft and perfect. Shifting around, he worked a hand between them, using his thumb to tease the hard little bud of her clitoris. A hot, savage jolt of satisfaction burned through him as she clenched even tighter.
Yeah…that was good, too. Sweet, and hot. Another memory.
He’d hoard them, keep them close.
All of this, one last gift. A bittersweet one, he knew.
“Ethan…” she moaned out his name as she came the first time.
She came the second time with a hoarse cry.
The third time, her hand slid from his back to lie limp on the bed. Then, only then, did he let himself go.
Slipping down, he rested his head between her breasts, tried to content himself with the warmth of her body, the ragged sound of her breathing. A night—he’d had one more night. It was something, right?
Then she whispered, “I love you.”
Something…no. Closing his eyes, he knew it wasn’t something. It was everything. She was everything. And he’d lose her. Once more. No matter what she said tonight, she’d walk away from him.
Chapter Three
I’m in hell.
Too fucking hot.
The air was thick, thick with the sounds of screaming voices and the stink of blood. Heavy with death, despair.
I’m in hell…
Something cool touched his face. Stroked his cheek. Warm lips pressed to his. A voice murmured in his ear.
“…wake up…”
Just like that, so easy, he slipped out of hell and into heaven. Opening one eye, he peered up at Celeste. She was propped up on one elbow, staring down at him. Her midnight black hair fell around her shoulders, lay across his chest. Her dark brown eyes gazed at him solemnly.
“You were having a bad dream,” Celeste said softly.
Ethan grunted. Yeah. Bad dream. That might describe it well enough. If one could call a bad dream having a friend turn and sell them out. Four years. It had been four years since that particular nightmare—one of the men in his unit, a guy he’d known for years, had turned traitor. Max Blesset—the fucking bastard was dead, cold in the ground, but it wasn’t enough.
How many nights had he spent reliving that betrayal in dreams?
Too many.
“Are you okay?”
Ethan forced himself to smile. “I’ll be fine.”
But he wasn’t sure he would. Now that he was awake, now that he realized morning had come, fear settled inside. A cold, hard knot of fear that threatened to block his throat.
“You don’t look like you feel fine,” Celeste murmured.
Tangling his fingers in her hair, he shifted in the bed, rolled until he could tuck her body under his. “I’m fine,” he said again, slanting his mouth over hers. He needed her again.
Because in his gut, he suspected she was going to walk away from him now. She’d walk away, and for the rest of his life, he’d live with the knowledge that he would never get over her.
He needed more…he needed always.
He would have to settle for moments and memories. Using his knee to nudge her thighs apart, he settled between her hips. “I need you,” he rasped.
“Then have me.” She pressed her mouth against to his throat as he slowly surged inside. She closed around him like hot, silken perfection. “I’m right here…have me.”
*
Celeste lay collapsed on his chest, gasping for air. Ethan’s big arms held her close, clutching her tight, so tight she could barely breathe. He held her like he thought she’d slip away.
Working her arms between them, she lifted her head and smiled down at him. But his face was an expressionless mask and Celeste felt something cold begin to work its way through her heart. Her smile wobbled, but she tried not to let it show as she lowered her head and kissed him.
He kissed her back.
But it felt…off.
Nervous, she pressed against his chest and he let her go, let her slip away from him. She felt cold. Grabbing the sheet, she wrapped the tangled cloth around her as he climbed out of bed.
The bright early-morning sunlight fell across his golden body, played over his skin as his muscles shifted.
Mouth dry, she watched as he grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled them on. “What are you doing?”
He glanced at her. His long, dark hair fell in his eyes, obscuring his features. “Getting dressed.”
“In a hurry?”
He shrugged, lifting one big shoulder before grabbing his shirt from the floor.
The cold ache in her chest expanded, shifted, flooded her. She’d felt like this once before—the day he’d walked away from her after he told her about her father. The day she’d pushed him away.
It looked like he was going to walk again. But this time, damn it, she hadn’t done anything to make him leave. What was going on? Blinking back the tears, she climbed off the bed. Her hands shook. She wanted her clothes, but she doubted she could even manage to pull anything on just then.
She felt sick.
As he put his shoes on, she stood there, watching him. Dazed.
It lasted until he started towards the door. Then the cold exploded into fury. Snarling, she grabbed her shoes from the floor and hurled one of them at him. It hit him square between the shoulders.
“You son of a bitch.”
He reached the door.
Celeste threw the other one. This one hit him in the back of his thick skull. Finally, he paused, reaching up to rub at his head as he looked at her.
“You’re walking away from me. Again.” She hated the petulant whine she heard in her voice. Hated how desperate, how needy she sounded. “You’re doing it again.”
He just stared at her.
Fighting to force the words past the knot in her throat, Celeste gestured to the bed and said, “So if you’re walking away, just like that, what was last night about?”
He lifted a brow. “Sex?”
If she’d had another shoe handy, she would have thrown it at him. And she’d have aimed for his nose—maybe she could break it. “You bastard. So much for that line you handed me about this meaning something.”
“What was it supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice weary, strained.
Celeste didn’t even know how to answer. Turning away from him, she walked to the balcony and slipped outside. It was hot—even though it was barely eight in the morning, the sun shone down with burning intensity and the air was thick, humid, and still.
She sucked in a lungful of that sultry air and told herself, I’m not going to cry.
She didn’t believe it, though.
And right up until the door opened at her back and she felt the cool wash of air-conditioned air dancing over her skin, she was perfectly okay with crying. She was entitled, damn it.
“Celeste?”
Dashing the back of her hand over her eyes, she stared straight ahead. The busted roads of Bell
e were in desperate need of repair, like half of the buildings. But it was easier to look at the eyesores of the poor town than to look at him.
“Just leave, Ethan.”
He laid his hands on her shoulders. Celeste hunched away and when he didn’t take the hint, she moved, putting as much distance between them as she could.
“I’m not leaving,” he told her quietly.
Snorting, she glared at him. “Oh, really? So were you going for coffee just now or what?”
He had the grace to look a little ashamed. “Maybe we can wind the clock back.”
“No need.” She looked away and stared at the barber shop across the highway.
“I don’t want to leave.”
“Oh, puh-leeze.” Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “If you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t have rolled away less than a minute after you made love to me, while you were still wet from me. You wouldn’t have gotten dressed and headed for the door while I was still struggling to catch my breath.”
“I didn’t want to—I figured that’s what you would want. Hell, Celeste, you barely know me anymore.”
Slowly, she turned and stared at him. “I know you as well as you know me. But I wasn’t the one heading for the door. That was you.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw. “You blame me for your father’s death.”
“No.” Celeste closed her eyes and sagged back against the balcony railing. Through the thin cloth of the sheet, she could feel the sturdy, solid wood. It felt real, like something she could cling to—and she desperately needed that. Reaching down, she braced one hand on it.
“No. Dear God, there have been times when I’ve hated my father, you know that? Even though I loved him, even though I still love him, a part of me hates him, hates what he was, hates how he lied to me.” Opening her eyes, she stared at Ethan through her lashes and said softly, “I blame for him for his death, Ethan. Him…not you.”
“You say that now.” He stared off over her shoulder, not looking at her. “But practically the first thing out of your mouth was whether or not I had anything to do with it. What would you have done if I’d said, yes…if I had known? Hell, if I had killed him?”
Celeste flinched. She covered her face with her hands. “I just don’t know, Ethan.”
With a terse nod, he said, “Well, maybe you should think about it. I didn’t kill him—I don’t know if it was a sanctioned hit, who did it, nothing.” He took a step closer and reached up, caught her chin in his hand, angled her face up to his. In a low, rough voice, he said, “But I could have done it. I wanted to, once I figured out who he was, and how he’d kept you in the dark all your life. I wanted to kill him, and if I’d had the chance, I just might have done it. So think about that. You don’t really want me in your life, Celeste. Not really.”
He stroked a thumb along her cheek, angled her face up for a kiss. It felt like goodbye. It felt like an ending.
Tears burned her eyes as he turned away.
But she didn’t let him walk away this time. Lunging after him, she grabbed his arm. The sheet she had draped around her gaped and she fumbled with it one-handedly as she glared at him. “That’s my call, Ethan. I get to say whether or not I want you in my life, and damn it, I know what I want. And I don’t want you walking away from me again.”
Her voice broke and she reached up, touched her fingers to his cheek. “I don’t want you walking away, Ethan. I’ve been so damned empty without you in my life.”
She trailed her fingers over his mouth, felt the hard, chiseled lines, committed them to memory. Then she made herself take a step back. “I know what I want. But I’ll be damned if I chase after you. It’s your call…if you want me, you come looking for me.”
She left him standing on the balcony and locked herself away in the old-fashioned bathroom. Struggling not to cry, she turned on the water and let claw-footed bathtub fill. The sound of running water echoed in the small room and she sniffled, giving in and letting one ragged sob escape.
There was more sadness trapped inside. But she couldn’t give into it. Not yet. She needed to get cleaned up, get the smell of his skin off of her body, and then get the hell out of there. Once she was on the road back to Mesquite, she’d give in, then she’d cry. Then she’d grieve.
But not yet.
She let the sheet fall to the floor and climbed into the tub. Water sloshed against the rim as she settled back. It was hot, almost too hot, but the temperature wasn’t doing a damn thing to penetrate the icy shell around her heart.
She was so cold. So cold…
Heaving out a sigh, she leaned back in the tub. “Don’t think,” she told herself.
It was how she got through that first year after Ethan had left her. It was how she’d gotten through her father’s death. Denial—it was her friend. “Don’t think.”
Abruptly, the water cut off.
Startled, she opened her eyes, staring at Ethan through a cloud of steam. Instinctively, she drew her knees to her chest, shielding herself from his gaze. But he was looking at her face. Only at her face. He knelt by the side of the tub and reached out, fisted a hand in her wet hair.
“What?” she demanded, defensively when he did nothing more than stare at her and toy with her hair.
He still didn’t say anything. He reached for her and hauled her to her knees, slanting his mouth over hers and kissing her. Water dripped from her body and hair, soaking his T-shirt, dripping down onto his jeans.
Celeste tore her mouth away and glared at him. “Don’t do this to me, Ethan. I can’t handle this roller-coaster ride, not if you don’t know what in the hell you want.”
“I’ve always known what I wanted,” he said. “You. Just you.”
“Yes, as evidenced by you walking away from me. Twice.”
“I know what I want,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But that doesn’t mean I think I can have it. Damn it, Celeste, I barely survived walking away from you.”
“Then why did you do it?” Celeste demanded, arching her back and trying to put some distance between them.
Ethan just tightened his hold. Gray eyes flashing, he glared at her and said, “Because it was the right thing—for you. I’d ruined your life.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, you didn’t. That wasn’t my life. It was a lie, one my dad made for me. That’s not the kind I wanted then, and it’s not the life I want now.”
“What kind do you want now?”
She gave him a bitter smile. “Haven’t you been listening? I want a life with you. I don’t know much more than that, but I want it with you.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes, dark and stormy, stared into hers, so deep, so intent, as though he was trying to see clear through to the other side of her soul. “Celeste…”
She leaned in and kissed his throat. Her heart raced in her chest, soaring high, then crashing to her feet. “If you really walked away because you thought it was the right thing to do, then so be it. I don’t like it, but I understand…I think. And besides…remember, I didn’t exactly give you a choice. I wanted you gone—I was rather insistent on that. I needed time. Now I’ve had it. And it’s up to us to decide where to go from here. Now we both have a choice. I’ve made mine…and I chose you.” Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his ear and murmured, “Make the choice, Ethan. Choose us this time. Us. Not me. Not you. Us.”
He didn’t say anything out loud.
He just kissed her.
But this time, when he kissed her, it wasn’t goodbye. It didn’t feel like an ending.
It felt like a new beginning.
About the Author
Shiloh Walker has been writing since she was a kid. She fell in love with vampires with the book Bunnicula and has worked her way up to the more…ah…serious works of fiction. She loves reading and writing anything paranormal, anything fantasy, and nearly every kind of romance. Once upon a time she worked as a nurse, but now she writes full time and lives with her family in the
Midwest. She writes romantic suspense and paranormal romance under the name Shiloh Walker, and urban fantasy under the name J.C. Daniels.
Find her at her blog
https://shilohwalker.com/website
Find her on twitter
https://twitter.com/shilohwalker
Find her on Facebook
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Read on for an excerpt from her first full length urban fantasy title…
BLADE SONG
BLADE SONG
Written as J.C. Daniels
Colbana.
The message popped up on my phone sometime past eleven that night.
Sprawled on my bed, going bleary eyed as I combed through yet another batch of runaways, I grabbed the phone with one hand and flipped the sheet over me with my other. I was just barely fast enough.
The door to my room opened a micro-second later.
I was dressed. Workout shorts, a tank top, decent enough, but still. Studiously ignoring him, I read the message and tapped back a reply.
The one and only.
That’s a relief. Can’t handle two of you, Linc texted back. So, exactly why did you make a point of giving me your cell number when I’ve had it for three years now? I mean, I called you to ask you out about once a week for a year.
I smiled a little as I deleted the message before replying. Linc had picked up on that, all right.
The shadow fell across my bed, although I didn’t hear him.
Rolling around, I casually settled with my back against the headboard and glanced up. “Any reason you’re in my room?”
Damon leaned a shoulder against the bedpost, stared at me. “Who is the message from?”
“A guy.”
Black brows ratcheted up. “You really think you got time to mess with that shit right now?”
“Hey, when you got an itch…” I shrugged and sent Linc back a reply. Just need a favor. When the results come back on the kid, can you email me them to my old email? Not the current—somebody reads them over my shoulder right now. He’s also trying to read my texts, BTW.
I deleted that message as the asshole in residence pushed away from the bedpost and prowled closer.