Ruined With You Page 15

  Hell, maybe now was the time for that conversation. The famous road was romantic as hell, even in the middle of the afternoon. And he’d enjoy sharing the view with her. “Why don’t I find a turnaround and pull over?” he said.

  “Why, Mr. Foster. Are you suggesting that we go parking?”

  “Maybe I am,” he said. “Of course it is the middle of the afternoon.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that if you don’t.”

  He grinned. “Nope. No problem with that at all.” He looked around, trying to get his bearings, and was pretty sure there was a turnaround less than a mile away, just past a particularly twisty and narrow section of the road.

  They were on a curve at the moment, and when he hit a straightaway, he noticed the vehicle behind them. There had been minimal traffic during the drive so far, and most of the cars had turned off when they hit Laurel Canyon or Beverly Glen, to go down the hill to the west side or into the valley.

  As far as he could tell, this one had come up fast behind him out of nowhere. And, he noticed, it was another black SUV, just like the one he’d clocked before they reached Ella’s.

  He scowled at his rear-view mirror, and released a silent curse. Beside him, Xena shifted. “What is it?” He could hear the nervousness in her voice.

  “Hopefully nothing. I just noticed the car behind us.” She twisted in her seat, looking through the back window of the BMW. “Is that the same car that was behind us on our way to Ella’s?”

  Liam grimaced. “Could be. Neither has a front license plate, but that’s not terribly unusual. And from what I can see it’s the same model.”

  “Shit.”

  “That pretty much sums up my sentiments.”

  “Can they see us in here?”

  “No. The windows are tinted. We can see out easily, but they can’t see in.”

  “Should we let them pass? It might just be a coincidence.”

  He’d been thinking something along those same lines, but on the narrow road, he didn’t want to take a chance if the person behind them was up to no good. And considering the way the last few days had been going—not to mention Xena’s entire life—the odds were good that the driver behind them did not have their best intentions at heart.

  Making a decision, he turned to her. “Are you strapped in?”

  Xena nodded. “Yes, but—”

  “Hold that thought,” Liam said as he hit the accelerator hard. “And call 911. Just in case I’m right.”

  The Beemer jumped forward, and he swerved to the left, away from the drop-off that loomed just beyond Xena’s side of the car. He could hear her tight gasp beside him, but couldn’t take his attention off the road to look at her.

  The SUV was closer now, and it made a sharp jut to the right as it accelerated, hitting the driver’s side of the BMW near the back tire and shifting the car’s ass toward the drop-off.

  “Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God.” Her phone had tumbled to the floorboard, but he could see that she’d made the call, and the phone was automatically sharing its location with emergency services.

  He wanted to tell her it would be okay, but he didn’t know that it would be. Although he damn sure intended to do everything in his power to make it so. And part of that attempt, unfortunately, meant that she was just going to have to hold on tight and hope that he knew what he was doing, because there was no time for consoling or conversation.

  The car shimmied, and Liam realized they’d blown a tire. The SUV had reversed, and was gunning its engine for another slam, and this one would surely send them tumbling over the hill.

  There was a guardrail a few feet ahead, and that was what Liam needed. And as the SUV jolted forward, he hit the accelerator, praying that he could cover enough distance before impact. He managed to get close enough that, when the next blow came, the nose of the car rammed the guardrail, stopping them from going over.

  But the SUV wasn’t giving up, and the driver pounded them again, this time hitting the rear of the Beemer with enough force that the guardrail actually gave way.

  Xena’s scream filled the car as the sedan started to slide, then jolted to a stop, and Liam realized that part of the now-jutting guardrail had caught the frame.

  The SUV wasn’t so lucky. The damaged rail had stopped the BMW, but the SUV had hit at an angle and glanced off the rear of his car. The driver had underestimated how much the rear of the car would sway with only the front smashed into the guardrail. It overshot with too much force, and in a cacophony of twisting metal and breaking glass, went tumbling over the drop off to crash into a heap among the trees below.

  “Don’t move,” Liam said to Xena, who was frozen beside him breathing hard.

  Around them, sirens blared as emergency vehicles approached.

  And it was only when the team had secured the car and safely extracted Xena, that Liam realized he could once again breathe.

  Chapter Twenty

  We’re at the site for what feels like forever before the police finally release us and have a patrolman drive us home. But even safe in the backseat of the cop car, my blood is still pounding as I live those last, horrible moments over and over and over.

  The driver was the second Vegas attacker, Mouse Face. His real name was Laurence Tesh according to the license they pulled off his body, which may or may not be bullshit. He’s one of the men who attacked Ella in Vegas. And he was one of Noyce’s men. We’ve been assuming as much, but today Mario confirmed it.

  So that means this horrible dead man who tried to kill us is tied to my past. And that both Liam and I are in danger because of a life I never wanted but can’t escape, no matter how hard I try.

  That’s reality, and it sucks. I want to rail against it. To scream and rant, and then cling tight to something or someone until they set it right.

  Automatically, I turn and look at Liam. I’m already holding his hand—we haven’t separated since the emergency crew helped us out of the BMW after they stabilized it. For a moment, I just stare, memorizing his features, amazed by how wholly and completely he has become that person in such a short amount of time. The man I want holding me. The person I want comforting me. The lover with whom I want to share my secrets, my hopes, my dreams.

  I try to tell myself that it’s infatuation or some type of hero awe since he’s stepped in to protect me. But I know that isn’t true. I’ve known it, I think, since that first party at Ella’s house, the one where we’d both wanted to kiss, but fought the urge.

  Today was horrible, but it was also confirmation of just how much this man has come to mean to me. Because as terrified as I was in that car, I was more terrified of losing him.

  I suck in a deep breath as tears well in my eyes. Beside me, Liam releases my hand long enough to put his arm around me and pull me closer. And when I rest my head on his shoulder, I almost burst into tears. I’m raw, and I don’t know what to do with all these emotions that are going around and around inside me.

  I need release—I need him.

  And right then, what I want more than anything is to be back at his place.

  “Xena.” His voice is tight, but also gentle. “Are you okay?”

  I nod. “That was just—that was just scary.” I meet his eyes. “I’ve seen scary. I’ve tasted terrified. But the only thing that’s messed me up more than tonight was my dad.” Because I lost my dad. And I almost lost you.

  I snuggle closer against him, his body tight and tense, and I know that he is fighting his own battle, too. I’ve learned how he thinks, and I’m certain that he’s feeling guilty. Because even though his specific mission is to keep me safe—and despite spending almost every waking moment with me—he still almost lost me.

  Oh, God. He almost lost me. And I almost lost him.

  I can’t wrap my head around the magnitude of that, and as the cop escorts us to Liam’s door, all I can think is that I want him. I want his touch, his mouth, his body. I want all of him, because he’s mine—and because he will make me forge
t.

  Best of all, I know he wants it, too, and I’m not surprised when—the moment the door shuts behind us—Liam has me up against the wall, his mouth claiming mine. It’s fierce and passionate and I surrender to him, letting myself fall under the spell of his lips, his hands, his touch.

  Our kiss is fierce. Fabulous. Teeth clashing, tongues warring, as if this were the ultimate act of connection. As if by kissing me, he is claiming me as his own, marking me as his forever.

  And, oh God, I want him to do exactly that. I groan, then suck in air as his hands close over my breasts, teasing my nipples through the thin material of my unpadded bra, then using one hand to unbutton the four tiny buttons that had been holding my blouse closed. He pulls my shirt open, then unfastens the front clasp of my bra to unbind my breasts before his mouth closes over one, his teeth grazing my nipple.

  I squirm, unable to stay still from the force of the sensations rising though me, and I move my hands from his shoulders down to his ass, trying to urge him closer.

  “No,” he says, lifting his head to look at me. I see strength in his eyes along with need and determination. Mostly, though, I see him looking at me. “Arms up,” he says, taking me by the wrists and thrusting my hands above my head.

  He holds me there, one large hand tight around my overlapping wrists as his other hand explores me. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and when I do, his finger strokes me, lightly stroking my cheek before moving lower, taking his time to caress me gently, to tease my nipple, to completely fire my senses, so that by the time he has reached the elastic waistband of the simple skirt I wore today, all I want is for him to rip it off me.

  He doesn’t. Instead, he hitches it up around my waist, then cups his hand over my pussy, thrusting three fingers inside me so that he has a tight, intimate grip on me. His mouth is on my breast and his other hand is above me, holding my arms firmly above my head.

  I struggle, wanting to feel just how completely he has captured me, and as I do, his grip tightens, his mouth moving up to crush mine, his tongue taking me in a wild, erotic demand.

  When he breaks the kiss, I am weak, my knees wobbly and my body so overheated, I’m sure that I will melt. “More,” I beg.

  He steps back, releasing me. “To the bedroom, baby. I promise you more.”

  I take his hand and slip it back under my skirt, my eyes locked on his. “More,” I repeat, and only see confusion in his eyes. “I want you to bring out your bag of toys.”

  He steps back, releasing me, his head shaking slowly. It’s as if I tossed a bucket of cold water all over us, and I desperately hope that I haven’t fucked everything up.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says.

  “The hell I don’t.” Anger sparks in me—how dare he presume to know what I need. “You want it—do not even try to say you don’t. So why the hell can’t you believe that I want it, too?”

  “You’re sore,” he says. “The wreck.”

  “Yeah, I am,” I admit. “But I’d like to be sore from you.” I put my hands on his shoulders, moving my body closer. I’m a little afraid that I’m crossing a line, but I’m past the point of caring. “Cuff my wrists,” I whisper. “Spank my ass. Give me a bruise that I want. Make me stiff in a good way. Dammit, Liam, you want it, too, and for the same reasons.”

  He tilts his head, his nostrils flaring as if he’s fighting some primal urge. Good, I think, and press on. “Do you think I don’t get it? Do you think I don’t understand why you shy away from relationships? Something happened,” I say, and see the slice of pain cross his face and disappear, so quick I can almost convince myself that I imagined it.

  “The world got out of control and you want to grab it back.”

  “And you?” His question is hard, almost an accusation. “You were controlled. Forced. Your choices taken away. For years, you were fucking used by those monsters. And now you want me to cuff you?”

  “Yes.” I want to scream the word, as if volume will convince him. “Yes. Cuff me. Blindfold me. Bind my legs. Spank or paddle me.” I draw a deep breath, forcing myself to slow my words down. “Whatever you want, Liam. Because I want it, too.”

  He shakes his head, and I go to him. I press against him, knowing I’m probably pushing too hard, but I no longer care. I’m either going to win or lose, but we’re going to finish this.

  “I want it,” I say gently, “but only from you. Don’t you get that? They took, dammit. I want to give. You’re a strong man, Liam. A powerful one. The kind of man who can make things happen, and I’d be a fool not to know that you’re the kind of man who likes to be in control, in and outside of the bedroom.”

  “I don’t need that,” he says. “Not like this.”

  “Of course, you don’t. Need isn’t the same as desire. And you would never take something you want if you thought it would hurt me.” I take his hands. “But please, please understand that your chivalry is misplaced. I want it too. Hell, I crave it.”

  “Xena, you—”

  “Yes, dammit, listen. You want control? Control me. Not because you’re forcing me, but because I want to finally, finally give someone control rather than having it be ripped from me.”

  For a moment, he only watches me, and I’m afraid he either doesn’t understand or doesn’t believe.

  Then he meets my eyes and says, “Bedroom.”

  There’s power in that word. Power and demand, and I feel the force of those two simple syllables all through my body.

  My knees are weak as I comply, then sit on the foot of the bed. He follows, pausing to lean against the doorframe as his eyes skim over me, his slow, steady gaze making my body tremble with anticipation.

  “Take off your clothes,” he says. “Then sit back down, legs spread.”

  My heart pounds in my chest as I comply, already imagining him looking at me, his eyes full of heat, and when I am naked and on the bed, my legs spread so far my inner thighs ache, I’m rewarded by his low groan of satisfaction as well as the way his hand cups his obviously stiff cock.

  He moves to the closet, then pulls out the bag. He makes a point of meeting my gaze, then spills out all the toys onto the carpet. I feel my body respond, my nipples going tight as I imagine what he’ll do with each toy. What he’ll do to me.

  “It excites you,” he says, and while I hear heat in his voice, I think there is also relief, as if he is only now certain that I’d meant what I said in the hallway.

  “Yes, sir,” I say, allowing myself the slightest of smiles as I emphasize the last word.

  His smile comes easily, and my own wave of relief washes over me as I realize that, yes, we’re both finally on the same page.

  “What’s your safe word,” he asks, picking up a blindfold and coming toward me.

  I shake my head. “I don’t want one.”

  He lifts a brow. “I don’t think—”

  “I don’t want one,” I repeat. “I don’t want limits with you. I trust you not to go too far.”

  For a moment, I think he’s going to argue, but then he bends forward and kisses me softly before settling the blindfold on my eyes and tying it just enough so that not even light seeps in under the edges.

  I wait for him to ask if it’s okay and am thrilled when he doesn’t. I want him to claim. To take. I want it because I’ve given it, and now it’s his turn to enjoy what I’m finally—freely—sharing.

  “On your knees, baby,” he says, his hand at my elbow helping me onto the floor.

  I kneel there, listening to him move around the room, then suck in breath as he tugs my arms behind my back, binding my wrists with the padded cuffs before turning his attention to my nipples, his fingers teasing them each in turn as I whimper.

  “I’m not asking if you want this,” he says. “I’m trusting that you do. And,” he adds, “I’m trusting that you’ll tell me if I’m wrong.”

  I nod, biting my lower lip in anticipation of what I’m sure is coming. Sure enough, moments later, I feel the pressure on my n
ipples, one after the other. There’s pain at first, but then it fades to a nice, deep intensity that seems to stretch like a thread all the way down to my sex.

  “Nice,” he murmurs, and although I know it’s silly, I feel a ridiculous jolt of pride.

  I can’t see, but I know that he’s right in front of me. I can feel his presence, larger than life and wonderfully commanding. And then, as if in confirmation, I hear his hands on his jeans and then the metallic scrape of his zipper followed by the rustle of material.

  I make a small, needy noise as heat coils in my belly. I’m wet—I can’t touch myself but I can feel the slickness on my inner thighs, and when the tip of his cock brushes my lips, I squeeze my legs together, fighting the urge to come right then as I open my mouth and take him in.

  With my hands bound behind my back, I have neither balance nor control. Instead, Liam holds my head, fucking me—controlling me—as I submit, reveling in the fact that I am giving this to him. Willingly. Openly. And, more, that he is taking it.

  I feel the subtle shifts in his body and am certain that he is close. I expect him to explode in me, but he surprises me, pulling out of my mouth, then taking my arm to tug me to my feet. He turns me around, then pushes me forward until my legs are pressed against the bed. He bends me forward so that my torso is on the mattress and my ass is in the air.

  I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation of the bedcover on my clamped nipples. Of the cool air against my heated skin. And of his fingers trailing lightly over my back, then down the crack of my rear until he slips his fingers inside me, his body bending over mine so that the cotton of his shirt brushes my back and his cock rubs my ass as he whispers, “You’re incredibly wet.” He thrusts his fingers in deeper, then withdraws them, trailing a fingertip lightly over my perineum as I bite my lower lip, lost in a needy, sensual haze. “I like it. Do you?”

  “God, yes,” I murmur, and he laughs.

  “I can tell. Spread your legs, baby.”

  I do, and he eases off me, lightly smacking my ass with the palm of his hand. I make a low noise in my throat, but press my lips closed. I want more, but I don’t want to beg. On the contrary, I want to let him lead this, taking me wherever and however he wants to go.