Gone was the evil, frightening man, and in his place, with a sexy morning shadow across his cheeks and chin, was Ryder the predator, looking as though he was going to devour me. Tingling warmth rushed through my veins in anticipation.
“Ryder,” I whispered, feeling helpless against my physical reactions. My body was at odds with itself. I wanted to be angry, but I also wanted to rub naked against him, like a cat in heat, taste his skin and lose myself in sensations I’d never before experienced.
He bent to my neck and took a nibbling bite that had me gasping as his rough whiskers moved gently against my skin, setting off little bombs of sensation as he went.
“Smell so good,” he rasped softly.
“Ryder...” I whispered, having trouble speaking.
“So soft,” he murmured in his deep voice. “I often dream of this.” His whiskers tickled my neck more, sending shivers down to my breasts. My nipples were suddenly stiff and aching to be touched. Touch me.
“Lin’de,” he murmured thickly, running his hand down the underside of my arm. He neared my breasts. Yes! His hand stopped, and I moaned in protest. So close. Not close enough.
“Please...” I whimpered, wanting to feel his hands on me.
The sheet had loosened during his inspection and his large, muscular leg fit between mine, settling against my heated center.
Who knew that could feel so right?
His lips worked their way to my ear, making me shiver with heat. I wanted to touch, but my wrists were shackled. Frustration spiked. I found his neck with open mouth, taking a nibble of his skin before soothing it over with my tongue. He moaned deep and low, making me feel feminine and desirable that I could make this tough guy want me.
Pulling my tank up smoothly, his rough palm enveloped my naked breast, and I couldn’t help a cry of pleasure as hot sparks shot to my feminine core and a rush of liquid heat gathered. His fingers plucked my hardened nipple and plumped the flesh to his lips, where he scraped the beaded nipple with his teeth before suckling it, hard. Drowning in pleasure, I moaned and panted, wanting to rub against his hot steel length.
The smell of his spicy soap filled my senses as I writhed against him, unable to control what was happening to me...and I took a deep breath again. That soap was delicious. His smell addicting. I’d smelled that scent before. Being unable to move my wrists gave me a sense of déjà vu. Being tied up. Mindwalking. Oh, my God!
“That was you!” I gasped, pulling my face away and looking into his eyes, searching.
I wondered when you’d figure it out. Though his face was still flushed with desire, his eyes were somber. A sense of acutely painful embarrassment washed over me. The sex dreams, the dream about my mother—and how many others that I just didn’t remember had he been in? A hurt the size of the ocean stabbed a hole through the center of my body, and I didn’t know what to do, what to say or how to feel.
“You wondered, did you?”
I pulled my wrists free and stood up, pulling the sheet as cover as I moved across the room.
“Taylor—”
“And you question your ability to trust me? Fuck you! Fuck you! You asshole! You dreamwalked into my sexual fantasy and played with me. You invaded my deepest, most secret places and manipulated me. Oh, God.” I covered my face, thinking shamefully of the things I’d done with him and the pleasure I’d experienced. He must have laughed his ass off at my stupid female fantasies.
“It wasn’t like that.” He shot up and approached me.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I choked on the well of emotions that were clawing at my throat. Everything, every fear, every secret, every flaw was there. In the open. He’d seen it. He’d analyzed it. He’d picked at it. Then he’d used it against me. What didn’t he know about me?
Somehow, I’d conveniently forgotten that he called me trailer trash in my dream. He’d really said it. Tears filled my eyes and trickled down my cheeks, that shame burning brightest. I was that scruffy little girl again with everyone looking down at me, feeling sorry for me, pitying me. It was my dirty secret come to light. And worse, he knew I had really begun to like him, and I was just some stupid trailer-trash girl looking puppy eyes at him. God damn it!
“Stop it!” He said harshly. “I had to do it. It was about national security.”
“Fucking me was about national security? I see. Well, tell your boss you did a great job.” I smirked and fresh tears coursed hotly over my cheeks, which only served to piss me off more. I never cried, particularly not in front of others, yet here I was, again, crying in front of him. “Just stay the hell away from me!”
My last glimpse of him as I walked out of his bedroom was of frustrated confusion marring his features. The need to come after me was written all over his face, but instead, his hands were on his hips. He looked so much like his younger self, which was somehow giving me an achy feeling in my heart.
I needed to leave.
Grabbing the knob and giving him a final, scornful look, I slammed the bedroom door shut with a satisfying crack. With nothing left to say, I walked out, hoping to keep my dignity, or as much of it as possible, on the short trek back to my apartment. Only the party boys from the apartment under mine were out to witness my walk of shame, and at one of their catcalls, I delivered the finger, which only made them laugh and made me feel worse. This was a new low. I had Ryder to thank for it.
The only question I had left was why? Why was he doing this to me?
Crawling under the blankets on my bed and just shutting out the world for the rest of the day and night seemed like a fabulous idea, until I entered the apartment and saw the mess again. Something else to have to deal with. Great. The world was just out to get me. Why? What had I ever done to anyone to deserve any of this?
So do I call the police? Was anything even stolen? And how many different fingerprints from previous tenants were they going to find that would prove to be absolutely worthless if I did call for them to investigate? How much wasted time? Emotion? Energy? No one cared about people like me. Ultimately, I decided that calling would prove to be a hassle with useless paperwork that would go nowhere. Nothing would be accomplished, except that all of the neighbors would know all my personal business. Definitely didn’t need to call.
I spent the day alternately moping and crying as I cleaned up the apartment. I swept up shards and dirt from the living room floor. I restacked DVDs and CDs, picked up magazines and tried to restuff the cushions of the couch. That was going to require some sewing, but luckily, I knew how to do that and figured on spending quality time with some bad reality TV and my sewing kit later.
I left a message for Cynthia about the break-in and was only that much more depressed when she didn’t even pick up. For some reason, her room hadn’t even been touched. Maybe the person had gotten spooked and run off before completing the job.
But I still had questions for her. I was confused. She probably wasn’t even a real friend, I thought morosely, and I cringed at the sophomoric tone of my whining. Jesus, I was sounding so goddamn high school I was making myself sick, and still I felt like a walking wound, all achy and sad. It just proved to me that you couldn’t trust anyone.
Maybe it was time to move on. I could find another apartment and just lose myself. But with that thought came a pang of undiluted hurt and loneliness. Hadn’t I spent my whole life alone? But I seemed to lack the skills to change that. After all, whom did I ever have as a role model for healthy affection, cooperation, care and wanting to get along well with others? I didn’t even know what healthy looked like.