The small amount of furniture she owned was in storage, overseen by John’s father. The rest of her belongings had been packed and sent to her, as though John Sr. knew his son wasn’t going to allow her to leave easily.
And he wouldn’t.
Stepping back into the living area of the houseboat, he quirked his lips at the sight of her sleeping, stretched out on the couch. The second Rowdy stepped inside, she was awake.
Just that quickly she sat up, eyes wide, a hint of fear and pain glowing in the marbled gray depths until she caught sight of John once again.
“Sierra Lucas, Rowdy Mackay,” he introduced the two of them as he carried his half of the luggage to the steps leading to the master suite on the upper level.
“Ma’am.” Rowdy nodded as he passed her. “Just excuse me, John decided he needed a pack mule this morning.”
Laughter echoed in the other man’s voice as he followed John and they moved upstairs with the luggage.
Rowdy sat the luggage by the bed and turned to John. In the other man’s eyes Rowdy saw all the demons that had haunted him when he realized Kelly had been hurt while he was away from her.
He saw the torment and knew the agony his friend was feeling.
“Damn, she’s fucking tiny,” Rowdy hissed, anger flaring inside him. “She’s even smaller than Kelly, John. How the hell did she survive an attacker?”
“Sheer stubbornness,” John sighed as he shook his head and placed the items he carried on the floor. “Hell, Rowdy, I haven’t slept since Dad told me about it. The nightmares will haunt me.”
And they would, Rowdy knew that. There was no way for a man to ever go back once he realized he’d left his woman unprotected, and she had been harmed.
John had marked that woman for his own before he left Boston. A man who had left something important behind just had an air of loss around him. It was an air John no longer possessed. What he possessed instead was the pain of knowledge, the awareness that he hadn’t kept her from harm.
“You sleep better when she’s with you.” He slept better now that Kelly was in his arms than he had his entire life. “But I saw her eyes, bro. She doesn’t seem as smitten quite yet.”
John would have his work cut out for him. Rowdy had seen the look she gave John. She was angry. There was a glitter of stubbornness, of pure feminine determination to make this as hard as possible on the other man.
Whatever had happened before John moved to Lake Cumberland, it had to do with this woman. And she wasn’t in the least happy with him over it.
Once he couldn’t see the bruises on the girl’s throat, then Rowdy was certain he would find John’s predicament amusing.
“I’ll get out of here and let you take care of this then.” Rowdy nodded. “I’ll let the others know what’s going on and we’ll see what we can do to catch the bastard if he’s stupid enough to try to follow her.”
God help any man that tried to hurt Sierra Lucas where John Walker or one of the Mackays could get hold of him. Nothing but death awaited such stupidity.
As they returned downstairs, Sierra was still sitting on the couch, but watching the stairs warily.
“Later, Rowdy.” John all but ordered him off the houseboat. He couldn’t bear seeing that fear in her eyes for so much as a second longer.
“Catch you later, John, and remember what I told you.” Rowdy paused at the glass sliding door. “The family will be around soon. Babies and all.” With that, he slid open the door, stepped outside, and headed back to the marina.
“What was that all about?” she asked as he moved into the kitchen.
“That means to expect the Mackay horde to descend upon us at any time,” he grunted. “Rowdy’s parents, cousins, their wives and babies. It’s worse than Thanksgiving dinner at the grandparents’ house.” And she knew exactly what those were like, since she had attended enough of them.
“You didn’t make friends that easily in Boston,” she said softly. “I guess I thought you were playing hermit here in Kentucky as well.”
“Only when they let me.” John watched her intently, debating on breakfast or hauling her straight to bed. She looked exhausted. “What time did you get up this morning for the flight?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t sleep well, so I was up in plenty of time.”
Meaning nightmares had kept her awake.
John’s jaw clenched. Breakfast, then bed.
“Why did you agree to this, John?” she finally asked as he pulled eggs from the fridge. “I’m not your responsibility, you know.”
Not his responsibility? Fuck that. She belonged to him, she just didn’t know it yet. That made her fully his responsibility whether she wanted to admit it or not.
“We’ll discuss that later, Sierra.”
“I don’t want to discuss it later. I want to discuss it now.” She rose to her feet and he noticed the small wince she almost hid.
His lips quirked. He could hear the nervousness in her voice, but he could also detect the knowledge in it. She knew exactly what he wanted from her.
“Lollipop, now isn’t the time.”
“And why are you calling me that horrendous name?” Exasperation filled her voice.
This time, he couldn’t stop the grin that curled at his lips.
“Lollipop? Because you’re so damned sweet to lick and suck on. And I think I developed an addiction that night, lollipop. I want more. A whole lot more.”
The statement stopped Sierra in her tracks as she began to stalk across the room to him. She swore every erogenous zone in her body jumped into hyperdrive, and every spark of anger he could have possibly ignited flared inside her as well.
He spoke as though he remembered it. As though it possibly meant something to him? She doubted very seriously he had a clue.
“How would you know? You passed out.”
“Right between the sweetest thighs I think I’ve ever had surrounding my face.” He grinned rakishly. “I remember that part, baby, just before passing out. Licking the sweetest, hottest little pussy I think I’ve ever had my mouth on.”
So that was the last thing he remembered? Asshole. He didn’t even remember kneeling between her thighs, taking her, then passing out.
“So you think I’m just going to be your little plaything while I’m here?”
The idea actually had its merits. Of a limited variety anyway. She could feel her breasts swelling, her thighs tightening, her pussy flushing and dampening.
Her clit was so sensitive now she wondered if she could come as she stepped closer to the kitchen.
Being John’s plaything would introduce her to a world of supreme pleasure, unfortunately, it would also include a world of heartache unlike anything she wanted to deal with.
Her heart had already been broken, she preferred that the parts still intact, stayed that way.
“I could handle that,” he agreed as though the thought had never occurred to him.
“Oh, I bet you could.” Her arms crossed her breasts despite the tenderness there. “Too bad it’s not going to happen.”
And to that, he laughed. The rich, dark male sound ricocheted up her spine and sent shivers of anticipated pleasure racing through her body. She knew that sound. Sexy, filled with intent. But she had never heard it turned on her before now.
“Sweet Sierra,” he sighed as though with relish. “You think you can sleep in my bed night after night, put up with me holding you, touching you, and still deny me?”
“I’m not sleeping in your bed.” The very thought of it was more dangerous than she wanted to contemplate.
“Sorry, but that’s exactly where you’re sleeping.” A pan slid on the stove, and as though they were discussing nothing more than the weather, he began making breakfast. Enough breakfast to feed an army.
Sierra could only stare back at him in shock. Unfortunately, she knew John too well, and she knew that tone of voice. Finding an argument against him wasn’t going to be easy.
“You think only weeks after that attack that I want any man in my bed?” The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them.
For a second, she could feel the fear tearing through her, but only for a second, quite simply because she knew John was the last man in the world that would ever harm her.
It wouldn’t matter how angry he was with her, it wouldn’t matter what she had done. He would never harm her.
“No, I don’t think you want any man at all,” he agreed much too easily. “But I’m not just any man, lollipop, I’m the man you actually want.”
The sheer audacity, the supreme confidence, in his voice had her lips parting in momentary, complete surprise. The problem with that surprise was the fact that he was right. Of all the men in the world, John was the one she would never stop wanting, the one she would never stop aching for. The one she would never fear would hurt her physically.
She watched silently as he scrambled eggs and made toast, trying to come up with an effective argument. One that would ensure he would stay out of the bed with her, one that would aid her in keeping secret the sheer depth of hunger that arose in her where he was concerned.
God help her if he actually touched her while he was sober. If he didn’t pass out and forget all the important parts. She didn’t know if she could bear allowing him to possess her, to know what he was taking from her, only to send her on her way when this was finished.
“You overrate yourself.” And that had to be the lousiest comeback that she could have let slip past her lips.
It was met with a small, confident grin. “We’ll find out later,” he promised her. “Once I have you in my bed and I see how deep those bruises are, how much loving you can take. But be prepared, Sierra, you’re sharing my bed, and I’ll touch you when I want to, when I need to. You might have run before, but I think we both know your running days are over here.”
Her running days were over?
Did he even have a clue how hard it was to stay away from him? How she had cried each time she had ignored his messages, how she had grieved when he had left Boston.
Damn him. He had broken her heart that night and had no idea what he had done to her. Just as he had no idea that he had taken her innocence a second before he passed out on top of her.
The bastard!
But she couldn’t deny him, either.
She knew damned good and well that she wouldn’t make it an hour in the bed with him without giving in to the needs he aroused in her.
Oh, a perverse, angry part of her wanted to. She wanted to throw his offer back in his face and show him exactly how easily she could refuse him. The problem was, as angry as he made her, as much as he hurt her, she didn’t want to refuse him. Her body didn’t want to refuse him.
She remembered the pleasure just as vividly as she remembered the heartache, and she wanted more. More pleasure. More touch. More of those lethal kisses, and that would require more of the pain as well.
Could she hold on to what was left of her heart and still give in to him?
There wasn’t a chance. He would destroy her and she was going to let him do it.
“You didn’t do enough to me while you were in Boston, did you, John?” she asked him softly. “You didn’t hurt me enough, right?”
“What did I do to you, Sierra?” Confusion crossed his face, filled his eyes. “I kissed you, I touched you. We nearly had sex and then you ran off. You didn’t give me much of a chance after that to do anything.”
“And I don’t intend to give you a chance to do anything now,” she warned him, despite the fact that she could barely breathe for the erotic implications running through her mind. “I can sleep just fine on the couch.”
Damn him. Every nerve ending in her body was rioting at the thought of him touching her, finally finishing what he had begun that night a year ago.
