Trapped between us, his cock stiffens again, poking me in the stomach, and I suck in a sharp breath. The kiss turns hard and hot, with teeth and tongue, and I moan.

He draws back, panting. “My turn.”

I can’t speak. Can’t think. My body throbs. “What?”

He licks his lips, and I stare at his mouth, almost going cross-eyed with the effort. “The truth.”

“Told you.” I’m so wet I can feel it between my legs. I need him inside me.

“No, you didn’t. Why did you run so far, and where you were planning on going last night?”

Crap. It all crashes back down on me—the fact I should go, the fact the house, my house… the house I broke into isn’t available to me anymore.

“Does it matter now?” I twist in his hold and manage to slide out of his arms. I scoot back to the edge of the enormous bed. “I don’t even have a place to stay anymore. I have to leave today.”

And that’s the truth I have to face.

***

He watches me as I hunt for my clothes in the four corners of the room, his mouth a thin line. He leans back against the iron headboard, his sculpted arms folded over his chest. He doesn’t look happy.

I’m not, either.

Clothes. When I get dressed, everything will be clearer.

Right.

For some reason my panties are under the bed. They are wet and smell of sex. Not quite sure how I should feel about that, whether to grin or cry, so I let them drop on one of the armchairs and look for my shorts.

“Ray…”

“What?” I keep my back to him. I’m still naked, and I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed.

“Stay here, with me.”

I turn to look at him, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“You heard me. Stay. Stay longer.”

“You serious?”

“Hell, yeah. Why not?

I shake my head. It might be nice, to hide from the real world a little longer. To explore Storm’s body and mind. Crack the Storm codex.

But… “I still don’t know you, and you still don’t know me.”

His brows draw together, and his jaw clenches. “To hell with that. What more do you need to know? I’m not a serial killer, Ray. I won’t hurt you. I haven’t done anything wrong, and I don’t think you have, either.”

“And you know that, how?” I pull on my panties, my shorts, and spot my bra by the coffee table. I put my arms through the straps and clasp it at my back. I walk around the bed and lift my blouse from its foot.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, letting out a sigh. “What else do you need to know? Just tell me.”

I close my eyes, torn. It isn’t you, I think, and the urge to laugh like a crazy person grips me. It’s not you, it’s me.

He swings his legs off the bed, and I do my best not to stare at his body and his cock, now lying semi-hard against his strong thigh. “So you’re really leaving. You won’t give this a chance.”

I pull the blouse over my head and tug it down. “I can’t.” I need to put some space between us. His proximity is wreaking havoc with my mind, my attraction to him drowning out logic and caution. “I just can’t.”

He stands up quickly. “Ray—” He slams a hand into the wall to steady himself, his mouth twisting into a grimace. “Fuck.”

Holy shit. I sprint to his side and put a hand on his arm, steadying him, taking in his pale face. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head. “It’s my leg.”

“What’s wrong with it?” I try to look down, but he grabs my waist and drags me against his tall body. “Tell me.”

“Car accident,” he whispers, his mouth on my hair. “Drunk driver slammed into us.”

“What happened?”

“Broke my leg.” He draws a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling. “And damaged my spleen.”

The surgical scar on his side.

Christ. “When was that?”

“Four months ago.” He curses softly, his body tensing. “Why the hell am I telling you all this?”

“Because I asked?” Four months. My heart is racing. Get a grip, Ray. It was months ago, and he’s mostly fine now. “And the older scar?”

“Knife wound. Got caught in a bar fight last year.”

“Sounds like a lot of bad luck.”

“Doesn’t it?” He shift his weight and mutters a curse under his breath.

“Need to sit down?”

This time he releases me. “I’m fine.”

“But you’re in pain.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.” His face is still pale, and a line sheen of sweat is coating his forehead.

He frowns. “I pushed myself too hard these past few days. I’ll just ice my leg down. It’ll be okay.”

But now I’m more reluctant than ever to leave. “I’ll go look for an ice pack. Or peas. Or whatever you have. I hope it’s not only lasagna.”

“We finished the lasagna. Ray…” His face is open, raw, unsure, hopeful.

“Just tell me this.” I poke a finger at this chest. “Tell me, Storm. What were you doing in the fucking storm that night? The night I found you.”

His mouth quirks a little. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Not funny.” I roll my eyes at him. “What were you thinking?”

He’s still leaning heavily into the wall. He licks his lips and looks away. “I needed to feel alive.”

“By dying?”

“By risking it. Don’t you want to risk it?”

“Been risking everything, all my life. It’s not as good as it’s cracked up to be.”

“Surely some things are.”

“Things, maybe, but not people.”

I turn to go, and he grabs my arm, holding me still. “What do you mean?”

I don’t glance back at him. I gently pull my arm free, and when I reach the bedroom door, I tell him. “I won’t risk your life. And that’s why I have to go.”

STORM

Risk my life? What the hell?

I push off the wall and limp back to the bed. Christ, I’ve fucked up my leg pretty good. Probably when I raced like I had hellhounds at my heels to tell Raylin to get out of the house when I saw the trucks arriving. Or maybe from putting too much weight on it when I pounded into her.

And fuck if my cock doesn’t stir again at the memory.

I ease myself down on the mattress and rub a hand over my face. Risk my life. Whatever. What have you done, Raylin? What’s going on with you?

She doesn’t come back immediately, and I wonder if she slipped out the house and is gone, while I’m sitting here, waiting for her to come back. To explain. Not like I can run after her with my leg on fire. I massage the cramped muscle and wish I could forget.

I need a drink. I wonder if I can hobble down the stairs to raid the liquor cabinet. I bet it’s still stocked, even after all this time.

Shit, I sometimes wish I’d stayed at my last job. It was a bikers’ bar, down by Tallahassee, and life was simple there. Break up some fights, mix up some drinks. Fuck some pussy.

What I really wish is that Hawk and Rook were here. We’d go on a bender that would never end. But they aren’t here.

They don’t even know where I am. Nobody does. Though they did vanish while I was still in the hospital, so fuck them. Guess they decided I’ve had enough handholding and back-patting for a guy my age. Guys my age are supposed to have their head on straight. To know a thing or two about life.

But turning twenty-one is not all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, I can now drink legally. As if it’d have stopped me before… And I’m independent from my uncle.

Cause he’s dead.

I reach up and rub my chest. Why the fuck do I feel this pain when I remember this little fact? Motherfucker wasn’t worth it. Crushed all joy out of my childhood. How many times I wished for him to drop dead when I was younger?

And yet. Maybe it was the way he died. Before his time. Reminds me too much of… of others.

Goddammit, why am I thinking of this now? It’s been over a year now. A year since I got the call about his passing and returned to town. A year to find my feet and calm the hell down.