Unbroken (11 page)

But as she drew closer to him she decided she wouldn't use either term. She would mentally refer to it as The Incident, if she had to refer to it at all.

That was settled then.

She stopped just to his left and reached up behind him, opening the cupboard and taking out her favorite owl mug, keeping a side-eye trained on him as she lowered it to the counter in front of the coffeemaker.

“Coffee?” she asked.

He jumped slightly. “What?” His voice was calm.

“Do you want some?”

“Sure.”

She reached up again, keeping her movements slow, making sure not to brush him with her elbow or—heaven forbid—her boob.

He could move. He didn't have to be planted so determinedly at the center of the stove. He was being all male and taking up all the space his big frame required. He could fold those broad shoulders in a bit.

So maybe he didn't remember. Because if he did, surely he would feel as awkward about physical contact as she did.

Surely.

She poured two cups of coffee and held the plain mug out to him. “Black and sugarless, I assume, in honor of last night's overindulgence.”

Their eyes clashed and held, and her heart stopped for a moment.

“The alcohol,” she said.

“Of course.” He took the mug out of her hand and lifted it in mock salute.

She nearly said,
What else could I possibly be talking about?
But then, somehow, her inner cooler-than-thou Amber clamped a hand over her mouth and stopped her.

“Me too,” she said. “With the black and sugarless, because I am all of the hurting.” She took a sip of her coffee and backed away from him, edging her way back to the table.

There. She'd survived that moment of nearness.

“Sorry about that,” he said, turning back to the stove. “But your bacon is ready.”

“Oh good. I crave meat.” She puckered her lips so hard they twitched as she tried to keep from . . . laughing? Shrieking in horror over her own stupid double entendre? “Of the preserved . . . salted”—it wasn't getting better—“variety.”

“Bacon à la me,” he said, putting the plate down in front of her. It didn't look particularly appetizing. She should have remembered that of the two of them, she'd actually cooked bacon before. But she'd been too busy having a medical episode over the memory of last night.

“Your bacon is underwhelming.” Oh, dammit. His bacon was underwhelming. His
bacon
was quite overwhelming and was the cause of her issues this morning. His
bacon
was spectacular. The best she'd never had. A glimpse into the promised land followed with an order to continue languishing out in the celibacy desert. “What I mean is you overcooked it. It's”—she poked it with her fork—“shrunken.”

She really needed to stop talking.

“However will you manage your disappointment with my underwhelming shrunken bacon?” he asked, deadpan, taking a seat across from her with his own plate of bacon.

“I shall try to manage. Imagine that it's other bacon I guess. Juicier bacon.” Oh hell. That was the worst unintentional double entendre in the history of bad unintentional double entendres.

She crammed a slice into her mouth and gnawed on it until it became salty pork paste on her tongue. It really was overcooked.

“No one's bacon is juicier than mine, et cetera,” he said, taking a bite, then grimacing. “Never mind. Everyone's bacon is juicier.”

He was being so normal. Talking about bacon and its drippings as though it was simply that, and not an epic metaphor for a penis and its . . . well . . . drippings.

“Oh, fuck the bacon.” Cade pushed his plate to the center of the table, and the plate kept going, wobbling back and forth until it tipped over the edge of the table and onto the floor.

She looked down at the tile, the plate, which was face-down, and the bacon, which had been flung to far-reaching places. She looked back up at Cade with large eyes.

“What?”

“Why the hell,” he said, planting his palms on the table and standing up, “are we talking about bacon?”

She stood too, her heart hammering, ready to beg him not to pop the little bubble of lies she was living in.

“Because bacon is what's for breakfast?”

He advanced on her, that same look in his eyes that he'd had out in the driveway when she'd insulted his manhood. And then he wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her up against his chest.

The resulting motion made him stumble. He kept his hand firmly on her back, his other hand planted on the table below them. His face was only an inch from hers, his face so close to hers she was sure he could smell her bacon breath.

“It's not what I want for breakfast,” he said, his voice a low, unfamiliar growl.

Her brain was on hyperdrive, trying to meld this image of Cade, feral, growling and looking at her like he was going to devour her, with the man she'd known more than half her life.

“What is it you wan—”

Her question was devoured before she could get it out. This was nothing at all like the kiss from last night. This wasn't soft and alcohol-tinged. This was hard, firm and sure. It tasted like black coffee and consciousness. There was no excuse for it, there was nothing to blame it on. There would be no cloak of invisibility to pull over it after.

It was the cold, sober light of day. And it was happening.

And she was letting it. She was more than letting it; she was returning it. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangled her fingers through his hair, and kissed him harder and better than she'd ever kissed a man in her entire life.

There had been a lot of kisses—there had been a lot of men. But there had never been one like this.

Maybe that was because those other men had really just been boys. Desperate, grasping high schoolers, like she'd been.

Maybe it was because she knew Cade. And he knew her.

Whatever the reason, there had never been a kiss like this. Not on her record.

She swept her tongue across his lower lip before delving inside his mouth, tasting him deep. He growled and lifted her up against him, setting her ass down on the table, pushing her plate of bacon onto the floor.

“Hey,” she said, breaking the kiss and looking down at her discarded breakfast.

“You don't need it,” he said.

No, she really didn't. Because her mouth was busy.

Cade brought his lips to hers again, intensifying the kiss, biting her gently before soothing away the sting with his tongue. A little thrill shot through her. How had he known she would like that? She hadn't even known she would like that.

He parted her thighs and stepped between them, his belt buckle digging into her belly, his denim-covered erection settling against her clit. She locked her ankles together behind his butt and tugged him harder against her body as she kissed him.

He broke the kiss and gasped for air, his hands shaking as he pulled away from her slightly and started working on his belt buckle.

She wasn't going to stop him.

She wasn't going to think.

Because she needed him. She needed this. Thirteen damn years since she'd been this close to another person. And she needed close. She needed it so bad it ached all the way through.

While he worked on his belt buckle, she tugged her jeans and underwear down, leaving her pantsless and bare-assed on the table, but she would worry about that, and potential sanitation issues, later too.

Right now, there was only one thing: need. She needed him. She needed Cade Mitchell inside of her more than she needed air. More than she needed anything else on earth.

And it felt like it had been that way forever. She couldn't remember not wanting him. Not now. It felt so much like it had always been a part of her. Like the need to eat or drink.

He freed himself from his jeans, leaving them halfway down his lean hips. He put his hand on her butt and brought her forward, nudging at the slick entrance to her body with the head of his cock.

He entered her slowly, his restraint almost killing her. But it was necessary. Because even with the great care he was taking, it hurt a little bit.

Sure, she had battery-powered devices to help weather her celibacy, but they were not Cade-size.

Oh . . . Lord. Cade.

She looked up at him, her legs locked around him, her arms around his neck. She watched his face, so familiar and so foreign at the same time. The tendons in his neck standing out, sweat beading over his forehead.

She had to look away. Had to bury her face in his shoulder while he pushed the rest of the way inside of her, because it was too scary, too real, too intense when her eyes were on him.

He thrust hard into her and brought all of her focus back to her body. To his body. Their bodies, and how much she needed this. The physical, and nothing more.

That's all it was.

Desperation; too many years, for both of them, spent not being touched.

Why not touch a little?

He flexed his hips and she gasped.

Or a lot. They could touch a lot.

She slid her hands down the front of his chest, relishing the feeling of all those hard muscles beneath her fingertips. But his shirt was in the way. She reached beneath the hem, let her fingers skim over his abs, the light dusting of hair adding an enticing texture to the hardness and heat. It was a stark reminder of just how much of a man he was.

And if that wasn't enough, his skill served as an even more potent reminder.

He wasn't a grasping, heavy-breathing teenage boy conducting a mad race to the finish line.

Cade was all man. And it wasn't only the size of his body, but the way that he used it. A man who knew that the journey was as important as the destination. Every thrust brought him into contact with the point of her arousal; every time he withdrew, every time he came back to her, filling her to the point of pain, she was pushed closer and closer to the edge.

He put his hand between them and slid his thumb over her clit, sending a lightning bolt of pleasure straight through her body. She let her head fall back and leaned forward, felt him scraping his teeth along the line of her throat, then going back over it with the tip of his tongue.

She clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin through the fabric of his t-shirt. She didn't think she could take any more. But she desperately needed more. Desperately needed all of it.

This was thirteen years of deprivation come to a head. This was sixteen years of knowing and never having touched Cade, reaching a screaming, shuddering end. And it was everything she'd imagined it might be. And more. Too much more.

She gritted her teeth, pushing back at the orgasm that was building inside of her. Because she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it would break her. That it would consume her. That it might not leave anything of her left in the end.

But she couldn't hold back forever.

One more kiss. Deep, long. Cade sucked her lower lip into his mouth just as he thrust deep inside of her, pushing her over the edge.

A hoarse scream climbed up her throat and she didn't even bother to stop it. All of her energy was given over to the intense pleasure that was coursing through her, taking her over completely. Her internal muscles clenched hard around his cock, and she felt the exact moment he let go of the hold on his control.

He froze, every muscle in his body tensing, a growl resonating in his chest, his hand tangling with her hair and tugging as he came hard.

Then there was nothing. Nothing but the sound of their breathing. Nothing but sunlight pouring through the windows and bacon on the floor.

Cade stepped away from her and turned around, adjusting his pants before dragging his hands over his hair and planting his hands on the counter, leaning forward, his shoulders stiff.

Well, it was safe to say he'd remembered the blow job.

And it was safe to say that neither of them would be forgetting this.

Even though that was the one thing they absolutely had to do. For their friendship. For her sanity.

Even while her body buzzed with an orgasm the likes of which she'd never even conceived of, even while her skin burned with the remainder of his touch, she was already working at forgetting.

There were reasons she and Cade had never done this before. And those reasons still stood. And it meant they could never, ever do it again.

Ten

“Do you need a ride to the hospital?” Cade was surprised his
voice still worked. That his lips still functioned enough to form words.

He'd been afraid of being permanently physically compromised after that last orgasm. And he was even more concerned about being struck dead, either by a bolt of lightning from above, or by a firm strike from a frying pan wielded by Amber.

And he deserved both.

What the hell had he been thinking?

Well, he hadn't been. Not with his head. That was a fact.

He'd just dumped his best friend's breakfast on the floor, then screwed her on the table. That was . . . wrong on so many levels.

“Uh . . .”

He turned around and saw Amber, still straightening her clothes, looking beautiful and stunned. And sad.

“Do you?” he asked. “I have to drive up to Joseph and talk to a guy about bison today. I could swing through town and drop you off.”

“Yeah,” she said, “that would be . . . wow. Fabulous. Great. Great and good. And . . . good.” She screwed up her face. “I think . . . I think I need to go to the bathroom for a second.”

“Right. Of course.”

She nodded silently, then walked back toward the bathroom. And as soon as she disappeared from the kitchen he sat down heavily on a chair, his legs fully unwilling to work now.

Though, full points to his body for managing to have sex while standing. Even though it was not the time to crow over his physical abilities. Not at all.

Besides, he'd probably pay for it later with wicked, screaming pain in his spine. He felt a twinge at the base of it. Yep. It was starting already.

But it had been worth it.

Hadn't it?

He let out a long breath. It was hard to regret sex like that. Hard to regret a release like that. Easy to regret the fact that he'd possibly compromised his relationship with Amber.

That realization hit him like a bucket of river water over the head.

What if they couldn't move on from this? What if they couldn't fix it?

No, that was stupid. They were adults. They'd both had sex before. Granted, it had been a long time, but neither of them were virgins. They both knew sex could just be sex. They both knew how to detach from it.

An orgasm wasn't love. An orgasm wasn't even a relationship. It was just that—a release. And they'd both clearly needed one.

He just tried to forget the way Amber's face had looked the moment before she'd disappeared into the bathroom. Because she hadn't looked freshly orgasmed and chill. But then, he supposed he didn't either.

He didn't feel it. Which was balls. Because it had been the best damn release he'd had in his memory, and he ought to feel some sort of good feelings along with it.

But he didn't. He just felt stressed. He felt like a massive weight had been left on his chest, and breathing around it was nearly impossible. Damn reality.

He would give almost anything to go back to the moment just before he'd kissed her and undo it. No, that was a lie; if he could control time like that he would give everything to go back to the moment he'd been inside of her, and just stay there.

But he couldn't do either thing.

That meant he had to deal with the consequences. Dammit, he hated consequences. He much preferred to drink them away, or move on to another town. Ride it out on the circuit. And he couldn't do any of those things at the moment. Because his running leg was broken, and his accomplice in all poor decisions, the person who would normally give aid in this kind of situation, was the person he needed to run from.

Amber returned a second later looking pale and a little bit shell-shocked, and Cade felt like the world's biggest asshole.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Fine. Just . . . stressed because of my grandpa.”

This woman raised denial to a new art form. First, this morning, it had been all about bacon and not about the head she'd given him the night before. And now, five minutes after they'd had earth-shattering sex on the kitchen table, she was pretending all they'd done was drink coffees and stare into the abyss, saying and doing nothing.

Well. Hell.

That was probably the tactic they should take, but he would like . . . something. An acknowledgment that he'd rocked her world, maybe?

Because as petty as it seemed, his ego could really use the stroking. Four years of no sex, and the dry spell had ended in a blaze of glory, if he did say so himself. So a little bit of an acknowledgment would be nice.

“Right, naturally. Are you . . . ready to go?”

She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets. “Yeah.”

“Great.”

“You don't want any of that bacon?” he asked, gesturing to their breakfast, which was still on the floor.

“I'm good.”

“Awesome. Let's go.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Let's go.”

“I'm ready.”

“Me too.”

“Outstanding,” he said, grabbing his keys off the counter. “Shall we?”

“Sure.”

They went out to the truck, and Cade opened the door for her, waiting for her to get inside. “Why don't you drive your sports car anymore?” she asked, after he'd gotten in on the driver's side and started the engine.

“Because,” he said, “I sold it last month.”

“Why?”

“Bison,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It means that much to you?”

“Yes. No. Hell, I don't know. I just wanted to do something. Something other than drive around in a sports car that shouts, ‘I'm having a mid-freaking-life crisis at the age of thirty-two.'”

“Oh. Well, I just . . . usually you tell me things.”

“I didn't want to tell anyone,” he said, his tone grumpier than intended. But he felt grumpy. He felt grumpy that she was ignoring everything that had passed between them.

“Why not? Because heaven forbid we should know you have goals and ambitions?”

“Because I don't want to fail in front of everyone again,” he said, throwing the car into gear and roaring out of the driveway.

Now he felt angry and exposed. More exposed than when he'd had his fly open in front of her.

“You've never failed in front of us,” she said.

“Really? What do you call the last four years of my life?”

“You got injured, Cade. So badly it looked like you might not walk again. Hell, for a minute there it looked like you might die. I don't think anyone begrudges you this time to readjust and figure out what you want to do with your life.”

“But I haven't been readjusting, have I? I've been absorbed into Cole and his plans. His life. And the truth is, I've been okay with that, because I didn't really want to want anything, but now I want to do this. And I feel committed, and he wouldn't give me the chance.”

“He's a control freak.”

“Damn straight.”

“And you're a pain in the ass.”

“Huh,” he said.

“Well, you are. And the two of you together are a very poor combination. It's like this big alpha-male, there-can-only-be-one thing. You're like two stallions in the same pasture.”

“Stallions?” he asked. Well, maybe she would acknowledge the fact that they'd just had sex.

“Yeah. With the testosterone and the cranky. You need your own space.”

“And now I'm in your space,” he said, testing things a little.

“Yeah, well, I suppose. Though, Davis hasn't been around.”

“You think he just skipped out?” Cade asked. “Without even bothering to try one more time?”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, just long enough to catch the frown that turned down her lips. “No.”

“Yeah, because if you think Cole and I are stubborn assholes, we don't have anything on Davis. He's stubborn. And pissed, because he thinks we just beat him.”

“What's his deal, anyway?” she asked. “A sudden fascination with my body isn't likely.”

Cade didn't know about that.

“And a sudden fascination with this hunk of dirt for the sake of it seems unlikely too.”

“Well,” Cade said, “ranch land is scarce, and if he has his heart set on Silver Creek, he's basically going to have to get established ranch land, unless he wants to tangle with the county over zoning and permits. He probably figures that since no one is selling, his best bet is to try and convince people to.”

“I got that much figured out, actually. I guess what I don't get is: Why Silver Creek?”

Cade shrugged. “Why not, I guess.”

“I guess. But he skeeves me out.”

“And you were about to say you didn't need me around because we hadn't seen him in a few days.”

“That's not what I was going to say.”

“Like hell.”

“Well, I did think that maybe you didn't need to stay at the house.”

“Oh, honey, I do,” he said. That brought to mind the situation back at Elk Haven, and he very much wanted to stay away from it.

He sneaked another peek at her and saw that she'd narrowed her eyes to evil, glittering slits.

“What?” he asked.

“Don't ‘honey' me.”

Oh, sure, don't “honey” her. Right after they'd had sex she was going to put an embargo on the word “honey.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he said, because he wanted to needle her. Her and her sex-denying ways.

“That either,” she said. “I'm not one of your buckle bunnies, Cade Mitchell.”

“I never said you were.” He gritted his teeth and tightened his hold on the steering wheel.

“Honey.” She snorted. “Sweetheart. I have a name, you know.”

“Yeah, I know it. I've known it more than half my life. Excuse me for giving you an endearment or two.”

“You don't normally do that.”

“Oh, that's it.” He pulled the truck off the road and threw it into park. Killing the engine, he whirled to face Amber and was treated to very large, very round eyes. “Stop acting like nothing happened. It's childish to the point of ridiculousness. You're going to act like
nothing
happened? I'll tell you what happened if your memory is failing,
baby
.”

“Cade, don't.”

“No, Amber, you don't. I haven't touched a woman in four years. Four years. But do you know what's worse? Having sex with a woman on a breakfast table and her going on like nothing happened. Better to just be celibate than to thrust my back out giving you an orgasm and have you act like nothing happened.”

Her cheeks turned deep pink, a vein that ran from her hairline down through her eyebrows standing out. “What's the alternative?” she exploded then, her voice shrill, her hands flung wide. “To sit here and do a postmortem on the ill-advised sex that we had?”

“It's better than you running off to the bathroom and acting like all you did was sit and eat your damn bacon.”

“You led the charge on that, Mitchell,” she said. “You were the one who turned around with your fly done up and asked if I needed a ride to the hospital like you hadn't just screwed me near to death on my grandfather's table.”

“I didn't know what else to say. But I didn't actually plan on
never
bringing it up. I think you did.”

“So? This is the other option. Great, now it's out in the open. This morning we had sex. I went down on you last night. I broke sixteen years of friendship in one fell swoop of drunken skankiness.”

“You weren't drunk this morning.”

“No,” she said, her chin thrust out, her jaw set.

“And I don't think you were skanky.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Look, I don't know why this all happened. If I could take back one thing in my life . . . Actually, it would be Greg Jones, not you, but if I could take back two things, it would be that ill-advised high school encounter, and this one.”

“Well, damn, you sure do know how to stroke a guy's ego.” He chewed on his next words for a moment before he decided,
To hell with it
, and spit them out. “You're a lot better at stroking his cock.”

“Fuck off,” she said, putting her hand on her forehead and glaring at the floor.

Regret grabbed his throat and shook hard.

“I'm sorry.” And he was. He was just confused and pissed, and he hated admitting he was confused, because men weren't supposed to be confused about this kind of thing.

But then, men weren't supposed to go having sex with their best friends either. At least his best friend was a woman; that made things a little simpler for him than it would be for some men in his situation.

At least he wasn't also questioning his sexuality. Just the most important relationship he possessed outside of blood ties.

“Look, Amber—” he started.

“I'm not in the mood to look at you,” she said, her voice a growl.

“Fine, don't. But listen. I haven't felt like a man for the past four years. If you asked me what I was before the accident, I would have said, ‘A man and a bronc rider.' And when I had the accident, which . . . wasn't even an accident . . . I lost one of those things. Then I discovered I didn't feel much like the other one anymore either.” He rested his forearms against the steering wheel and leaned forward. “Then you . . . you touched me last night and I couldn't say no. Dammit, Amber, I know I should have told you no, but I couldn't.”