Jillian, who held onto everything, including a ring from a guy who didn’t deserve to be breathing, had tossed Reseph’s gift.
“Guess that includes people, too,” she’d whispered.
She was done with him. Reseph had felt as though his entire body was imploding under the weight of his agony.
How could he have said that? Because you lived by that rule, asshole.
It took him several hours to go through his entire life, to find the event that had started it all. It was probably fair to say that there were a lot of events, but one in particular stood out, and it filled him with shame.
The little grave at his feet contained a human who shouldn’t have died and who, if Reseph had been more watchful, wouldn’t be condemned to eternal suffering in hell.
Sinking to his knees, he bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Ariya. I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you. I’m sorry I didn’t fight for you the way I should have. I can’t make it up to you, but I can make it up to someone else. And I’ll never miss your birthday again.”
He bent forward and pressed a kiss into the headstone he’d carved himself. A sense of peace fell over him, and he could almost believe that his baby sister had given him her blessing.
He’d failed Ariya, but he wouldn’t fail Jillian. He was going to fight for her the way he should have from the beginning.
Thirty-four
Jillian pulled the pickup next to the house, and even before she shut off the engine she became aware of a presence nearby. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as if she was being watched. If those Aegis assholes were spying on her, they were going to see the business end of her shotgun.
Cursing, she hopped out of the truck and stomped to the front of the house. As she opened the door the fresh scent of fir tree hit her. Light spilled from the living room, a familiar multi-colored glow, and as she stepped inside, she saw the Christmas tree lit up in the corner. Beneath it, piled high, were dozens of wrapped presents.
A lump formed in her throat and butterflies flitted in her belly, and when she sensed movement behind her, the butterflies went crazy. “Reseph,” she whispered.
“Merry Christmas,” he replied softly. “I know it’s early, but we never had the chance to get the tree we talked about.”
“Because you got your memory back.” She turned slowly, bracing her heart. Didn’t work. The sight of him made the stupid organ jerk painfully against her ribs. God, he was as gorgeous as ever, standing there in jeans and a black thermal Henley, his hair falling in lush blond waves to his shoulders.
“I miss you.” He cleared his throat. “I want to make it up to you.”
He wanted to make up to her the fact that he didn’t want to be tied to her? Not a chance. “I don’t want to hear it. I want you gone, and I don’t want to see you for another eleven and a half months.”
“I’m not leaving.” His expression hardened. “Not until I’m finished with what I have to say.”
“Then you’ll be talking to the wall, because I’m not interested.” She started for the bedroom, intent upon shutting him out here, but she hadn’t gone two steps when she found herself backed against the front door, Reseph’s hands on her shoulders, his mouth on hers. Oh, it felt good to be like this again. So good she wanted to weep with relief… and with anger.
“I’ll talk to the wall,” he said against her lips. “I’ll talk to a window, the fireplace; hell, I’ll talk to the fucking carpet. But eventually I’ll get to you, and you will listen.”
“I hate you.” She thrust her hands into his hair and kissed him back. Hard.
He captured her lower lip in his teeth and then laved the gentle bite with his tongue. “I love you.” A buzz of both pleasure and pain at his words and the stinging nip rushed through her.
“You hurt me.” She tore open his jeans and took him in her hand. His hard length jerked in her grasp, and he moaned. She loved that sound. Loved that she could make him need her.
“Jillian… stop.” He captured her wrist and forced her to stop stroking.
“Dammit,” she snapped, shoving at his chest, although it was like trying to move a brick wall. “You said you wanted to make it up to me. This is what I want. You hurt me. You made me love you. You made me promises, that you liked this life and wanted to be with me, and then you yanked it all away.”
“I know.” He sounded like he’d swallowed sand. “That’s why I’m here. But we need to talk first.”
“Talk? You? Mr. Who Doesn’t Love Casual Sex?” She shoved at him again. And again. As if pushing him was going to bring back all the happiness they’d shared. When he didn’t budge, she changed tactics and ripped off her sweatshirt. She went for her jeans, but this time Reseph grabbed both her hands.
A rough sound erupted from his throat. “Jillian, stop it.” She looked up and nearly swayed at how his eyes glinted with shards of lust. “I’m on the edge right now. Being here with you is making my sex demon half rage. I want to mount you so bad. Throw you against the wall and pound into you until the roof comes down on top of us.”
A powerful punch of arousal made Jillian’s body quiver at Reseph’s words. “Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t want it like this, and neither do you.”
“You have no idea what I want,” she yelled. With a snarl, she shimmied out of her jeans. “I wanted you to fight for me instead of against me. I wanted you to trust yourself as much as I trusted you. I wanted you to want to be tied down.”
A shadow of shame crossed his face, but in an instant it was gone, replaced by that intense, dangerous lust that had always permeated their lovemaking.
“I made mistakes,” he growled. “But I’m here now.”
“Well, give the man a medal,” she ground out, and before she even finished her sentence, he’d hauled her off her feet and braced her high up on the wall. His mouth was on hers in a demanding, almost brutal kiss. A raw, animal noise came out of him as he dug his fingers into her bottom to lift her and lower her onto his erection.
He entered her in a hard, powerful surge, and then he was pounding into her the way he’d said, his hips jackhammering against her. Ecstasy rolled through her, her orgasm hitting her so fast her mind spun. She thrashed against Reseph, loving how he wasn’t sparing her mouth, her back as it scraped against the wall, or her sex as he pumped into her in a ruthless, delicious onslaught.
His pace picked up, but how that was possible she had no idea. He jerked wildly, his body shuddering, and another climax ripped through her as his hot semen splashed inside her. A shout tore from his throat, and they both convulsed, swamped by pleasure.
When the shuddering and panting waned, Jillian’s muscles turned to water, and very gently, Reseph eased her feet to the floor.
“Fuck,” he muttered, shoving himself away.
She blinked, brain fuzzed out and not functioning yet. “What’s wrong?”
He zipped up and then snatched the blanket off the back of the couch and handed it to her. “Condom. Forgot to protect you again. I want to know if you’re pregnant.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what he’d do if she were, but she was suddenly too tired to fight. “I’m not from the last time.” She’d started her period the day after she’d returned from Greece, and she’d been strangely sad about it. And God, how bizarre was it to think she could have been impregnated by one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?
He watched her wrap up in the blanket, the lights from the Christmas tree glittering in his eyes. “Are you okay?” His voice was gravelly. “I was too rough with you.”
“Honestly, I don’t think that would be possible.” The air crackled with instant tension as that night in the airport parking lot got between them. Dammit. She quickly pretended she didn’t notice the taut strain in the room. “Where have you been staying? I’ve worried about you.”