Worth the Risk (11 page)

Hannah watched the McKinney men divide themselves into teams and huddle up while a battle of nerves and excitement played out inside her. It was obvious from the way Stephen had looked at her that he was as surprised as she was.

“I had no idea he’d be here,” Abby said, joining her on the grass. “By the look on your face I can’t tell if it’s good or bad.”

Neither could she. She’d told Abby he came over for dinner last week. She’d left off the make-out session on the couch and the part when she’d put an awkward stop to it. “I’m not sure. He makes me…”

Abby smiled. “Hot? Tingly?”

“Confused.”

“Yes. That too.” Abby sighed. “Relationships are complicated.”

Maybe more so with her than most. No doubt a man like Stephen wanted more than kisses at the door and she still hadn’t been completely honest with him. But the heat in his eyes when they’d met hers minutes ago…Did she imagine that? The way he’d kissed her goodbye on her porch looking like he didn’t want to leave…

She’d just recently decided she wanted to try, and even that had been in a far-off, abstract kind of way. Watching Stephen bent over in a huddle, wearing jeans and a T-shirt that molded to his upper body, she thought there was nothing abstract about Stephen. He was big and hard and very…real. His worn jeans hugged his thighs and butt, his boots were off. Even his feet were sexy.

Her body went hot and tight at the memory of his kiss. The feel of his lips moving over hers and the taste of his mouth. She’d never dated. Never had a boyfriend. Had just barely begun to have an interest in boys when her life had all but stopped.

Lizzy joined them and handed her a glass of lemonade. “Please tell me we’re not the only family with grown men who run around in the backyard like boys.”

“No.” Hannah smiled, grateful for the distraction. “Everything’s a competition to men. Who can burp the loudest. Who can fit the most cookies into their mouth.”

Lizzy nodded in agreement. “So true. That’s right, you have brothers.”

“Yes. Four.”

“Oh, girl. We could swap childhood nightmares. Getting zipped up in sleeping bags, feet stuck into a spinning ceiling fan.”

It hadn’t exactly been that kind of childhood, but she smiled anyway. Conversation dropped off as the game got under way.

The men talked trash. The women cheered and laughed while they chased toddlers. Stephen’s mom sat nearby with a referee’s whistle and she wasn’t afraid to blow it. She scolded them for being too rough, using their full names like they were little boys instead of full-grown men. Hannah would have loved to see her own mother scold her bossy brothers. And, as Abby had explained, no matter what, the game would end in a tie. She smiled at the rightness of that. Of a mother’s sense of love and fairness.

When Stephen took off his shirt, it was like all the air had been sucked from the backyard. Nothing could have made her look away from the rippling muscle, or the sheen of sweat that covered his back and shoulders. All the brothers were good, the teams evenly matched, but Stephen was by far the best, his athleticism, speed, and strength evident in every move. She wanted to run her hands and mouth over every inch of him, and she had nothing else to do but stand there getting hot and bothered. To wonder what the light dusting of black hair on his chest would feel like under her fingers. And the line of it that disappeared into the waist of his jeans, leading her eyes right to what she wondered about most.

“Look at that,” Matt yelled after Stephen made a stunning catch. “He can still play.”

Yes. He could. And looked incredibly good doing it. And when he handed the football off to one of the little boys, then scooped him up and made a run for the goal, her heart melted.

The game ended, high fives were given all around. Husbands kissed their wives, kids begged for food, and Stephen walked to where she waited at the swing set. He didn’t stop until he’d closed every bit of space between them. Until his wide body shielded her from the rest of his family. Neither spoke for several long hot seconds. Tiny beads of sweat ran along his temple and down his stubbled jaw.

Strong and solid. Hot and sweaty, liquid brown eyes heavy with desire. For her. So close she could feel the heat rolling off his skin, could breathe in his sexy man smell.

He raised his hands to the wooden beam above her head, boxing her in. “You threw my game off.”

She swallowed against her dry throat. “I did?”

“Definitely. It took everything I had not to come over here, screw the game.”

And it took everything she had not to slick her palms over his abs, his chest, and around his shoulders.

“I could feel your eyes on me. I can’t think straight when you look at me like that.”

She didn’t know exactly how she’d been looking at him, but she knew what she’d been thinking.
Good Lord.
Had everyone seen it? And now he was looking at
her
like he’d won the grand prize and she was it. She had the thought that maybe she should run, that she wasn’t ready for this. For him. But she laid a shaky hand against his side, felt him suck in a breath between his teeth.

“I need a shower.”

“I don’t care.”

Stephen cursed under his breath. “I’ll take you home.” He took her hand in his and grabbed his shirt off the back of a chair, barely giving his family a backward glance.

Stephen pulled her behind him out the gate, and she’d waved a hasty goodbye to Abby with what she imagined was a ridiculous smile on her face. They went around to his motorcycle parked at the curb and he fastened his helmet on her head. He slipped on his shirt, and cranked the motor. “Hold on.”

She did, because what else does a girl do when a man tells her to get on the back of his motorcycle? She hugged him tight enough that her breasts pressed against his muscled back. The motor vibrated between her legs and the ridges of his abs flexed under her hands. Exhilarating. Arousing. Hot.

But mostly it was being with Stephen. Just the two of them, the warmth of the sun, and the whipping wind as they flew down the highway. Wild and free. Like being on a horse, only a million times better because she wasn’t alone.

Too soon, they turned in to the gate and made their way through a tunnel of trees. They stopped in front of her porch under a sprinkle of sunlight, the sudden shade after the sun bringing chills to her skin. Stephen cut the motor, flipped the kickstand, and got off the bike. So large and capable. Skilled and in command.

She was about to ask him if they could do this again, but before she opened her mouth, he lifted the helmet from her head and dropped it on the ground, not once taking his eyes from hers. Like he couldn’t see anything else. Like there was nothing and no one else. Then he got on the bike again, facing her.

Her legs were spread on the hot leather seat, open to him as he was to her. It felt wicked, and dangerous. Big hands came down on her thighs, hot and heavy. He ran his palms over the fabric of her jeans, starting at her knees and moving upward. Then down, and up again, slowly from her knees to where her thigh met hip. And still his eyes held hers.

In a sudden move he gripped her legs just above the knee and pulled, sliding her along the seat until not even a breath separated them. So close she could barely breathe.

“Hannah.”

He spoke her name on a breath, making her insides dip and dive. Then, with their gazes still locked, he speared his fingers roughly into her hair and covered her mouth with his. It was a kiss so hot, so fierce, there was no room for anything else. No fear. No second thoughts. Without hesitation, her arms circled his neck, his back. Her fingers slid up and into his damp hair and she kissed him back with everything she had.

With one hand still tangled in her hair, the other moved seductively down her side, and an unfamiliar need rose inside her. Keeping her dazed with his kiss, his palm teased lower, stopping just short of the apex between her legs. Her body tightened and buzzed, warmed and melted.

He kept her guessing as to what he would do next, where he would touch her, how he would kiss her. Fast or slow. Gentle nips or deep strokes. He covered her bottom with both hands and brought their bodies fully together and held. Between two layers of denim, she felt him hard between her legs. Arousal crawled along every nerve ending and spread. He rubbed against her, rocked her against him. Trailed hot, openmouthed kisses down her neck until she was coming apart.

On a rumbled curse his mouth left hers and in two quick moves he had her off the bike. He carried her easily, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, his boots knocking on the three wooden steps.

Hannah kissed her way over the salty skin of his neck and smiled at his muttered oaths while he fought to unlock the door. A second after he kicked it closed behind them, her back was against the solid wood. His hot mouth crushed down over hers.

Her fingers pulled at his hair. Their tongues mated and her greedy fingers found the edge of his T-shirt and slid under. Her skin was on fire under his lips and a liquid heat curled in her belly and lower as she ran her hands over his bare stomach and chest.

With a groan, he spun her away from the wall and in seconds she landed with a soft bounce on the couch. He stripped off his shirt and his mouth came back to hers in a scorching kiss.

Long fingers, hot and slightly rough, slipped under her shirt. Up and over her rib cage until he covered her through the thin satin of her bra. He stroked his thumb over her nipple as his lips traveled across her shoulder. She’d never felt anything like this. It felt so good, so…she didn’t know what, but she wanted more. She spread her fingers over the expanse of his chest and arms. Pulled at his shoulders and raised her hips.

“Slow down,” he whispered against her lips and took his time, cruising his mouth over her cheek, down her throat.

Her body was on fire, everything in her hot and alive. She was panting as he worked the buttons of her shirt, kissing each newly exposed inch as he went. Cool air brushed her skin damp from his mouth as he made his way down.

And then, even in her desire-induced haze, she remembered. “Wait.”

But she was too late. His task complete, he sat back and spread the fabric open, eyes locked on what he’d revealed.

And the hot blood pounding through her veins turned cold.

“Jesus.” It was all he could say, and even that came out as a shocked whisper as he stared at Hannah’s body. Scars, too many to count. Some angry and purple, others white and thin. Just below the breasts he’d touched, across her stomach he’d revealed. Patterns and groupings, vicious and savage.

An accident? An animal attack? His mind struggled to make sense of it. Had she been in the car with her parents?

Hannah just lay there, her breath coming hard and fast. A part of his brain was telling him what he didn’t want to accept. That they were deliberate. That this had been no accident.

When he finally met her eyes, they were filled with so much fear and hurt, his stomach turned. Her fingers shook as she drew the shirt together and eased out from under him. Too shocked to stop her, he watched her as if in slow motion while his mind still struggled to catch up.

She moved across the room, her steps slow and shaky, until she stopped at the windows. He swallowed hard past the rock in his throat and took a step toward her. “Hannah?”

She lifted a trembling hand. “Don’t.”

His mind was blank and full and reeling all at once.
Someone did this to her. Someone hurt her.
He’d thought that before. For five years he’d dealt with and lived with this same thought about someone else. It had tormented him. Driven him to the brink of insanity.

Silence weighed in the room for what seemed like an eternity. “What…?” He didn’t even know what to ask. He wanted to know, but he didn’t. “Hannah. Please.”

She stared silently out at the woods for so long he didn’t think she would answer. When she did, her voice was too thin, too far away.

“I was fourteen.”

Stephen moved until he stood a few feet from her and to the side. He studied her face, waited.

“He took me to a basement. It was always dark, dark and black unless he turned on the lights, and then it was blinding.

“He was a scientist, he said. There were things he had to know, tests he had to do. A bat. A bowling ball.” She reeled off facts like she was talking about someone else even as her hand closed over her forearm.

Cheeks pale, eyes wide, staring into the innocent woods but seeing something horrible. He didn’t want her to see it. Didn’t want her there, not even in her mind.

“He cut me. Glass. Razors. Knives. Always knives.”

The words crawled over his skin like acid, the images she created slammed into his heart until he couldn’t breathe. “Stop.” He took a step toward her.

“There was so much blood. I was wet with it.” His breath hitched.

“Stop.”

“I tried not to scream, but it hurt so much. I—”

“Hannah, stop.”

“I tried, but I— There was so much blood.” Her voice grew high-pitched and panicked.

A war raged inside him, choked him until he couldn’t take it anymore and he took her by the arms. “Just stop! For God’s sake, stop!”

Her pale face jerked to his and for seconds she seemed to look right through him. She blinked and the look in her eyes changed. Confusion. Anger. Pain. How could this have happened? How could this kind of evil touch a girl who was nothing but good and light? He dropped his hand; his mouth was so dry he couldn’t speak.

“I want you to go.” Her voice was flat, emotionless.

“Hannah.”

“I want you to go now.”

“Hannah.”

“Just go!” It burst out of her and she stumbled away from the hand he offered, grabbed his shirt off the floor, and flung it at him. “Get out!”

His heart was being torn open to the point he literally expected to see blood. But there was no blood and his shirt hit him in the face. Her small, ice-cold hands hit his bare chest.

He opened his mouth to speak. Tried again. Unable to reach the words locked behind the lump growing in his throat. One last look at her tortured face, and he opened the door. He wasn’t even off the porch before he heard it slam behind him.

Time skipped in Stephen’s mind. His hand opening the cabin door. Kick-starting his motorcycle. He hadn’t gone home, just drove and drove, pushing the machine between his legs to the limit, peeling around turns and daring the pavement to touch him. Faster and faster like maybe he could get away, and if he flew right off the road, all the better.

He’d been here before. Desperate to block out another person’s suffering. Ready for death or whatever punishment God wanted to dole out and thinking,
Bring it.
For once in my fucking life let me be the one to feel the pain.

At some point, he ended up in his office, alone and in the dark. Maybe his subconscious slipping back to all the hours and days and years he’d medicated himself with work. The time he’d turned to Trace to save him, but now? Now he just sat, staring at nothing. Doing nothing.

Every word replayed until he was nauseous. Every image brought the liquidy acid up his throat. Hannah and his fiancée blended together in his mind until he thought he would go insane.

The graphic crime-scene photos of her dead body on their apartment floor. The light tan carpet soaked with her blood. The stabs and slashes that left her flesh gaping in too many places to survive.

Day after day, he’d sat in the courtroom and looked at all of it. Ingested it. Never letting his eyes waver for even a second. Listening to the prosecution lay out the case in gory detail.

He made himself look. Made himself hear every word like he owed it to her. Like that would somehow put him there with her, naked on the floor, swimming in blood. His punishment for not being there before.

Her ashen face swollen and disfigured where they’d beaten her. Her white-blond hair dark with dried blood. Her legs left spread to show where she’d been ravaged and torn. And the ring he’d given her, gone, along with the finger she’d worn it on. And she’d endured it all alone.

But Hannah had endured alone too, had been reliving it and breathing it right in front of him. And he’d done nothing. He’d left.

Everything he hated rushed back. The guilt. The loss of control. The drinking. And yeah, he wanted a fucking drink.

From the courtroom, to Hannah. Back and forth, over and over, the images crashed together like a horrific storm. Blood on both of them. The need to save both of them.

But he hadn’t saved either.

It was dark, Stephen had been gone for hours. And for hours she’d sat on the couch staring at nothing. She should eat. Shower. Trying hard not to feel anything, she pulled herself up and went into the bathroom, intent on washing off everything of that day. Everything of Stephen.

His scent lingered on her skin, and her stomach twisted with what she’d let happen. How close she’d gotten, everything she’d told him. She’d opened her mouth and it had all poured out like a vicious flood. So caught up in all that was him, she hadn’t been thinking at all. Had forgotten the bone-deep fear that he would look at her and reject her.

A whimper escaped and she pressed her hand over her mouth. The look on his face, the horror in his eyes, sickened and not wanting to hear it. She stripped off her clothes in front of the mirror and forced herself to look at the body staring back. It could have belonged to someone else, she felt so far removed from what she was seeing. She traced a finger over the lines on her stomach. A broken body no man would ever want to touch.

Sad, blank eyes stared back at her. So different from the bright eyes of a few weeks ago. Twelve years’ worth of pain and shame and embarrassment hit her like a fall from a skyscraper. That’s how it felt. Like falling from a great height with nothing to catch her but the unforgiving sidewalk. The bite of Stephen’s rejection was strong and sure. She wanted to break something, like her torturer had wanted to break her.
Had
broken her. With a primal scream, she grabbed the ceramic toothbrush holder and smashed it against the mirror, unleashing all her pain and fury and heartbreak.

A spiderweb of cracks appeared, mimicking the lines in her skin. She hit it again and again, until a sting and a line of blood sliding down her arm made her stop. The ceramic lay in pieces, bright red drops hit the white sink bowl. She stared a few seconds, then, naked and empty, she slid to the floor, the wall cool along her back, until she hit bottom. And without even bothering to wash off the blood, she cried.