All the Way Page 13

  “Stop it right there. That’s exactly what started this fiasco. Lust. This craving we have for each other that never seems to go away.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “It isn’t real.” She snatched the key back, shoved it in the lock and pushed the door open. Blake slipped in after her, shut it, and slid her up against it the way he had earlier. Except this time darkness smothered them. Her senses heightened.

  Remembering what he had done to her made her knees weak. She knew what would happen next, what always happened in Blake’s arms.

  Heaven help her, she wanted so much to bury the past under the thick blanket of their attraction, their chemistry and undeniable need for each other that went far beyond physical satisfaction. Like their souls needed to touch, meld, become one to ease this eternal restlessness that plagued them when they were together. And even apart. At least for her.

  As if the only way to get close enough was to make love. Join their bodies in the physical act to quench this soul-deep need. She feared it would never fade until she felt him inside her, moving over her, driving them both the edge, where fact and reality blurred, then melted into timeless essence, the aching beauty of bliss.

  Oh yes, she knew what would happen next. It’d been inevitable since the moment they agreed to go on this journey.

  One question rose to her mind. Its anxious stab throbbed like an unhealed wound inside her. Could she let it…without regretting it?

  Chapter 10

  Blake’s lips found the base of her neck as if he knew the spot by heart. Coating her skin with a trail of steam that made her shiver, he slid his mouth up her neck to her earlobe. His tongue flicked inside. Her knees weakened, and her resistance followed.

  The backs of his fingers traced the other side of her neck, underneath her chin, where her pulse pounded furiously. He paused.

  Whispering in a sexy drawl, he said, “This,” smoothing his thumb over her rapid pulse, “isn’t real?”

  Her head fell back, and she tried to stifle a moan. She reveled in the sensation of her neck and jaw ravished with his kisses.

  Coasting his hands down her chest, his palms massaging her tight nipples, he whispered, “This isn’t real?”

  He seized her lips, a feral kiss that ignited her with exactly what she’d accused lust of being—uncontrollable hunger. “This,” he murmured, slipping his fingers under layers of jeans and panties to touch her intimate wetness, “isn’t real?” He found her hand and held it to the front of his pants, molding it to his arousal. “Or this?”

  Layla’s eyes flew open. Panting to ease her racing heart, she grabbed fistfuls of his T-shirt, felt the layers of muscle underneath. She tried to grasp how one man—this man—could throw her so off balance, make her lose control, when she kept everything else in her life under tight rein.

  “It’s real,” she blurted out. “But what if it isn’t right?”

  “What’s wrong about feeling so good?”

  “I…I can’t think with you on top of me.”

  “That’s the point. Don’t think. Just feel. I want to get lost in this incredible thing we have, this amazing place where nothing matters but being lost with you. And I don’t want to be found.”

  Her heart constricted with longing to lose herself to him. But before she traveled that path, she needed to scrape away whatever brambles remained that would trip them up. “Blake, wait…please. I have something I need to say.”

  It was the hardest decision she’d ever made. But it seemed right.

  She needed to stand her ground, needed to know everything—the entire truth of the past. No matter how badly she wanted him to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the bed. And lose themselves in each other.

  A rough sigh came from deep in his chest. He stepped back. Layla found the light switch. The room brightened with a wash of lamplight.

  She kept her post by the door as he sat facing her on the bed. The guarded look on his face made her glance away. This had to stop—this game of chase, capture, release. It took its toll on them both.

  Stupid games , she thought bitterly.

  “Why did you put me on the end of that bet tonight?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you trust me?”

  “Why don’t you respect me?”

  “I respect you more than anyone.” The sincerity in his eyes validated the words.

  “It made me feel like a cheap, worthless nobody, to be put up for grabs like that. Whether you meant it or not, I don’t care. Whether you won or not, it doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter.” Blake straightened, his posture revealing the argument to come. “I—” Then, to her surprise, he closed his mouth and backed down. His glance dropped to the floor. “I guess I see your point.”

  She walked past him, staring out the window at the darkness as she spoke. “Especially after what we shared right before that pool game. It sounded like you were ready to get rid of me, because I wouldn’t have sex with you.”

  He inhaled sharply. “I’d never treat you like that. God, Layla, you mean more to me than anything. You have to know that.”

  “Do I?” She faced him.

  “Don’t you?” He looked shocked to her core, so wounded she almost wanted to take it back. But uncertainty still plagued her, their past a tangle of misunderstandings and confusion. He whispered her name like it was his dying breath. “Layla?”

  “What reason do I have to trust you with my heart again?” she asked, immediately hating how her words put hurt in his eyes, a level of agony that surprised her and spoke to her own remembered pain. Why didn’t he understand? They’d hurt each other the last time their emotions ventured into the deep, uncharted waters of intimacy. She couldn’t simply sail back into his arms. “Blake, I’m not trying to be cruel, and I appreciate you coming on this trip with me, proving that you can be there for me when I need you. It’s something I never thought to hope for—from anyone. But before I can trust you the way we deserve to trust each other, I need to know.”

  She paused, took a deep breath, and pressed into the shadowy realm of their past.

  “Why did you leave me that night?”

  His startled glance flew to her. He asked quietly, “Finally ready to unpack that, huh?”

  “I am. All I’ve known up to this point is what Jack told me. Now I want to hear your side.”

  “You have no idea what that means to me.” Emotions gathered in his eyes. He stood, reaching out to her like he was about to pull her into his arms.

  But she held a hand up to stop him. “Blake, please. Just talk to me. I want the truth, and then I want the chance to deal with my feelings after you tell me. That doesn’t happen when I’m in your arms.”

  Letting his hands drop to his sides, he looked away. His jaw hardened. “Okay, then. Let’s get it over with.”

  He turned away. He went to the door and walked outside. She blinked, then followed him. “Blake?”

  “You want to leave your clothes in these saddlebags all night?” He leaned over his motorcycle, unlatching the compartments. He removed his duffel. When she approached hesitantly, he tossed her overnight bag to her. “Since the mood is totally gone, we might as well use this time productively.”

  She blinked. “All right.”

  Following him back into the room, she closed the door, preparing herself to hear him unveil his version of the story as they unpacked their things. Layla paused as she pulled out the roll of her soft cotton pajama pants. Blake was right. The sense of warm intimacy they’d achieved had evaporated. In her fear of uncovering the truth of the past, she’d pushed him away. Again.

  Disappointment tightened in her chest and stuck in her throat like wishes that had no words. But she’d asked for this. If he could see it through, so could she.

  “I’ll make it short and sweet,” he said. The room filled with a sharp, snapping sound as he whipped one of his T-shirts like a rug that hadn’t been aired in years. “You said you knew Jack Johnson before you a
nd I dated. Well, I knew him, too. Johnson and I have been enemies for years. I wish I’d known he had a thing for you. Then it would’ve made more sense when he blackmailed me into leaving you that night.”

  Layla froze with a hanger in her hand. “Blackmailed?”

  “That’s right. He told me if I didn’t leave that night, he’d call Rob’s juvie officer and report the curfew break.”

  She gasped. “He didn’t!”

  “Hey, are you telling this story, or am I?”

  She swallowed, nodded.

  Blake continued. “I knew Jack would do it, too. He’s ruthless. He saw a way to kill two birds with one stone and get away with double murder.” Blake’s body tensed, his hands clenched like a man suppressing powerful rage as he muttered in aside, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “What do you mean he—?”

  “He used Rob to get rid of me and take my place your life. There. The truth. For whatever that’s worth to you.”

  “That’s why you left?”

  “Protecting Rob was the only thing equal to my feelings for you. I chose Rob—like you would have, in my position. I know that kid’s everything to you. Anything you treasure that much shoots to number one on my list. That’s just the way I am.”

  That was absolutely something Blake would do. Hadn’t she known that? Why hadn’t his version of the story ever occurred to her? She suddenly felt sick inside, the kind of stomach-squeezing sickness that she felt when she learned of a disaster that could’ve been—or should’ve been—prevented. Like Kenny’s death.

  He shoved his T-shirts onto the top drawer of the dresser. “I left for Sturgis, hoping that when I got back Johnson would’ve forgotten the whole thing and moved on.” Blake shook his head. “I had no idea he’d stick around. Or that you’d let him.”

  The insinuation in his tone, like she’d deliberately wronged him, slashed across her pride. She marched toward him, hung up her shirts in the closet next to the dresser and whirled to face him. “How dare you make it sound like I wanted Jack more than you—”

  He spread his hands. “Hey, I’m not here to argue. Believe what you want. I’m tired of trying to be everything you need and never being enough.”

  “Why would you say that?” Hurt echoed in her words.

  His eyes shone with incredible intensity. His voice softened to a whisper. “Is it enough?”

  She stared at him blankly. “For what?”

  “For you. Could I ever be enough for you? Be what you need?”

  The question wrapped around her chest, constricting her breath. “I’m not sure how to answer that. Am I supposed to welcome you back into my life after a year of not speaking to each other? I mean, just ten minutes ago you turned me into a lousy bet.”

  A desolate look crept into his eyes, like his insides had been laid to waste. Then he blinked. A mask descended over his features, devoid of expression.

  He angled himself away and dumped the contents of his duffel on the bed. With his back to her, he spoke in a strained monotone. “Tonight I found out who your brother is riding with. That helps,” he explained, “because the group is distinctive. We can spot them easily, even with the thousands of bikers who’ll be swarming Sturgis.”

  “You learned that tonight.” She stared at him. “When? How?”

  “I traded for it. Over a pool game. But they wouldn’t take money. They wanted you. I humored those guys, using the game to protect you, find out about your brother, and defend your honor. I guess that makes me an unforgivable demon from hell.”

  “I…I didn’t know.” Her lack of trust seeped into her awareness and soaked her conscience with regret.

  “Seems we don’t do that communication thing well, do we? Too busy jumping to conclusions about each other, instead of going on a little faith.”

  He’s right , a small voice said in her mind. To distract herself from the tears that kept rising up behind her eyes, Layla pointed out a bright spot. “At least this time we didn’t scream at each other or throw things or slam doors.”

  “What progress.” He managed a smile, forced, fleeting.

  After he put away the contents of his duffel, Layla glanced at the expanse of bed awaiting them. Since it was the last room available, they had to settle for one queen-size bed, instead of two. She thrust her hand in the direction of what she suspected would become a place of torturous temptation. “Will the sleeping arrangements…bother you?”

  He lifted a shoulder and said mildly, “No, you?”

  She shook her head, recognizing a side of Blake she’d never seen. Accommodating, overly polite, he treated her like a stranger, a roommate for the night and nothing more.

  She’d hurt him deeply. She hadn’t realized that her opinion of his honor would affect this much. Then again, she’d recently discovered men were sensitive about that. There were times still stuck in her memory of when Jack flew off the handle if she didn’t believe his hyped-up stories of his heroic rescues—

  Layla flinched. Where had that thought come from? Why would she think about Jack at a time like this?

  Uneasiness swept through her.

  Blake gave her a sidelong glance. “Want me to go outside while you change for bed?”

  “No, it’s fine.” She sent him a peculiar look. “I’ll just be in the bathroom for a few minutes.” Swiping her overnight bag, she slipped into the bathroom, completed her routine, and slid into comfy pajamas—striped cotton pants and a loose sky-blue tank top that matched. She emerged to find Blake in sweatpants. And nothing else.

  Don’t look. Don’t tempt yourself . But she did.

  All her suspicions were confirmed. He was gorgeous shirtless. Better than her imagination had predicted.

  The muscles in his torso and arms stood out in relief. Warm shadows and soft light caressed every contour. His long dark hair splayed over a set of shoulders that invited her hands to stroke those firm ridges.

  She shut her eyes and moved blindly toward the bed. She got under the covers. Blake followed. Only he stayed way over on his side.

  How nice of him , she thought glumly. She’d killed this mood, she reminded herself. With her doubt and fear and cynicism. Three old friends that had once been her allies were cold comfort. She’d holed up inside their false protection for so long, and now all she wanted to do was let Blake in.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She looked over at him quickly. Then saw what he actually meant. She gave a nod.

  The lights went out. She lay in the dark, eyes closed, aware of every shift in the mattress coming from the other side of the bed. She had no idea when she had drifted off to sleep, when suddenly the bed bounced and woke her. Her heart pounded.

  It matched the sound of Blake’s fist beating the wall above the headboard.

  She jumped at the burst of clamor. “What are you doing?”

  Then she heard it, coming from the other side of the wall. Eee-err … eee- err … eee-err …

  He pounded the wall again. “Hey, will you knock it off? We’re trying to sleep over here.” Eee-err, eee-err, eee — “Thank you.”

  But the silence didn’t last. For this round, the racket of lousy bedsprings intensified with a banging headboard. She heard Blake’s voice muffled by the pillow he pulled over his head. “The fates are conspiring against me, I swear it.”

  After enduring another few minutes of listening to other people having sex, he cursed and leaped out of bed. “Where are you going?” she asked sleepily.

  “Out.”

  “Now? But it’s late,”

  “Better than staying here. Unless you want to take your chances sleeping next to a guy with a raging hard-on.”

  If there had been one ounce of warmth in his voice, a hint of sexiness or desire, her answer might have surprised him. Instead, she kept it to herself.

  She listened to him fumble around in the dark, curse when he couldn’t find his boxers, grunt as he pulled on his jeans and boots. The heavy crinkle of leather as he slid into his coa
t. The door rattled on the hinges when he slammed it. Gravel crunched under his boots as he walked away, leaving Layla alone in the hotel room, in the dark.

  She was surprised to feel a weight of sadness on her heart. She felt Blake’s absence like a physical loss, a tangible emptiness that filled the room.

  The rumble of Blake’s motorcycle burst the still night air. He revved it and roared off. Layla burrowed under the covers, plugged her ears, and pretended she wasn’t jealous of the people on the opposite wall.

  It took half an hour, but finally sleep claimed her. Until a loud ringing snapped her awake. She bolted upright in bed. She saw the other side of the bed was still empty and blinked at the blurry red numbers on the digital clock. Last she looked it had been ten after ten.

  “Who’s calling at eleven-thirty?” She felt heavy and groggy, like she was still wading through dreamland, unable to process anything.

  The phone rang again, jarring her a second time. She picked it up from where she’d replaced it after Blake had torn it from her and sent it across the room. The sudden thought of him made her warm inside. “Blake?” she said into the receiver.

  Static greeted her. Then she heard loud breathing that resembled the grunts of a bull right before he charges.

  Her heart choked on its own beat. She slammed the receiver down, going cold.

  It was the sound she heard whenever Jack called, when he wanted her to know it was him, but wouldn’t identify himself. It always unnerved her because he seemed to be keeping tabs on her. His twisted way of telling her she couldn’t escape him.

  A ruthless game of power—and Jack always won.

  “No, you sick jerk! You’re not going to do this to me anymore.”

  Layla heard her voice echo and realized she was talking to herself in an empty room. Maybe it’s all a dream , she reassured herself.

  “Or maybe it’s not…” she said in a suffocated whisper, staring at the shadow of a man in a cowboy hat at her window. He stared right at her. She heard a scraping sound, like someone was trying to pry the screen out. And the window stood open a crack. It would be easy to yank it the rest of the way…