“How do you know that?”
It comes back, but it looks forced. Shaky. “Gage told me about your mom. What she’d do to you and your brothers and sister.”
He told her about my past. The disgusting things I was forced to do, and the even worse things Gage protected me from. Those aren’t stories shared between lovers or friends. Those are tales of horror, the backbone of every nightmare, and meant to be taken to the grave. And I hate that Shy’s been tainted by them.
My hand drops from her face and I step back. “Why would he tell you that?” My voice sounds void. Emotionless.
“Don’t get mad, okay, I just . . .” She chews her bottom lip, her eyes skirting to the nearly set sun, then back to me. “Do you ever wonder what happened that day, the day you got that scar?”
“No.” Gage took over that day, and I don’t need to know the details of what happened to know it ended in four lives lost. “If I knew the truth, I’d probably hate myself more than I already do.”
“You’re not even a little curious to know—”
“No. Not even a little.” All that matters is a jury found me innocent. What really happened is irrelevant.
“But—”
“Drop it, Shy!” I turn away, pissed at myself for snapping at her. She doesn’t deserve my anger. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”
“Why not me?”
Because I want you to like me, don’t want you to see how weak I am, want to be deserving of you.
I turn and force myself to relax. “I don’t want to know, okay?”
She shakes her head. “Okay, I understand.” She holds out her hand. “Come on, it’s getting dark. We should go.”
I stare at the patch of earth where flowers are now crushed as evidence of what we’d done there and feel the frustration melt away. She tugs on my hand and after one last glance, I follow Shyann into the thick of the forest.
THIRTY-ONE
LUCAS
It’s dark by the time we get back to the river house. We took our time hoofing through the trees talking about mindless things. She laughs when I tell stories about the guys at work, and she tells me stories about those same guys from when she was a kid.
Things are light between us, no talks about Gage or my past, not a mention of the murders. Thunder crackles overhead and we get the first few drops of rain as we hit the creek.
We hold hands as we maneuver the rustic-log bridge, and what started as drizzle quickly turns to a downpour. Her laughter permeates the air along with the powerful scent of pine and rain as we race to the front door.
Buddy barks at us from his spot beneath the porch, and Shy gives him a quick rub before pulling me to the door. She grins up at me, breathing heavy, her black hair wet and beads of rain on her eyelashes. “That came out of nowhere.”
I open the door for her to go inside, but she stands for a few silent seconds before making a move to cross the threshold.
“If this is uncomfortable . . .” I rub the back of my neck, hating the words I’m about to say. “You don’t have to stay.”
She steps to me and pushes up on her tiptoes to press her lips against mine. Salt from her skin mixes with the cool rain and I lick my lips to absorb every drop.
Her eyes track from my lips to my neck, then dip to my chest. “You’re drenched.”
“So are you,” I whisper, and don’t know why, but it’s like the volume has been turned down on everything but my pounding heart.
She dips her hands beneath my T-shirt and I lift my arms as she slides it up my body and over my head. Her gaze moves across my shoulders, my chest, and lower until her hands hook into my jeans. She fumbles with my belt but manages to get it open along with my button fly. I’m so hard, so ready for her that my erection strains the fabric of my boxers.
Her jaw falls open and her chest rises and falls erratically as she stares openly between my legs. Unable to control my need for her, I cup her jaw, tilting her head up, and crash my mouth to hers. I suck at her lips that taste of rainwater and only leave me thirsty for more. There’s no gentle teasing, no silent requests for entrance. Our tongues lash violently together as if we’d finally let go of all restraint. I walk her back, moving deeper into the house while pulling at her sweater, pushing it up over her breasts while she struggles to free her arms, only then breaking the kiss long enough to pull it from her head.
My eyes burn to stare, to study her in nothing but jeans and a bra, but the competition of her mouth is too much. Later. I’ll take time to worship every swell and dip of her body, learning her sounds and committing them to memory, but not now.