Breathe for Me(37)

“You can tell me anything. Ask me anything.”

And he was right.

But he was also wrong. Her fear of asking hadn’t just been about sex. Not about the bedroom games and light fantasies. It was about putting herself out there and possibly being hurt again. Being rejected. Losing someone you cared about.

Had she really thought that if she didn’t fully engage she wouldn’t care so much? That she could ‘manage’ her emotions somehow? What a fool. Because he’d fully engaged her emotions anyway. It hadn’t just been about pleasing him, she’d been so into him.

She wanted to give to him, because he’d given to her—support, companionship, he’d listened, he’d pleased. And even though he might not want it forever or anything, she owed it to him to be honest. Emotionally honest and open.

And do what they both truly wanted.





Chapter Twenty-One





“Someone’s grumpy.” Logan laughed at him from the other side of the pool table.

“Shut it.”

“You not getting any lately?”

Xander didn’t answer.

“Well, why don’t you find someone else? Plenty of women around here who’d do anything you wanted them to,” Logan said, bitterness rasping.

Xander didn’t want any of them. Damn it. “Shut up.”

“You’re so pissy. Why don’t you take your mood home and spare the rest of us who are ready to party?”

Xander rolled his eyes. The rest of ‘us’ was only Logan. Hunter was away, Rocco was here but technically working. Xander might as well leave. He’d been here for two hours already and not left the table once. Hadn’t bothered to look anyone in the eye. “You’re going to get in real trouble sometime, Logan.”

Logan just laughed and kept assessing the women in the room.

Rocco’s bar was pumping—the place filled with beauties who were up for it. But Xander was sitting in the far corner by the pool table, trying to swallow back the bitter irony. He’d told Chelsea this would end if she developed feelings for him. But more fool him, for he was the one getting all sappy just because they’d been having sex. Often.

And that was his problem tonight, right? She’d gone away and he was missing it. The sex that is. Not her.

Wrong. It was all her. Calling in to see her for five minutes when he had the chance wasn’t for sex. It was to see her. His need to understand and help her out over her nightmares wasn’t because he’d come over all good Samaritan. It was for her. Because he liked her.

But she was so at ease with the deal she was happy to just pack up and go away for who knew how long. She didn’t miss him. Damn it. And she didn’t seem at all troubled by her imminent departure from the city. Sure, it was another month away, but Xander felt it like the bomb was ticking and about to detonate. And the target about to be blown to bits?

His heart.

Exactly what he didn’t want. He’d never wanted it. Hell, he had no clue about relationships—had never seen a decent example in all his life. He’d been all about play.

And Chelsea had liked make-believe. Except now Xander wanted it all to be real.

Yeah. That was the problem.

He knew what he had to do. When she got back, whenever that might be, he was ending it. No more games, no more getting off on the wicked laugh she let out too rarely. No more wishing she’d fully set free her spark of playfulness. Now more wishing she’d open up and talk to him, trust him the way she had that night.

Because he hadn’t said the right thing. He’d only upset her. He wasn’t the guy to help her find that freedom again. He’d tried but he’d failed. He had to walk away because she had him wishing for things he’d always believed he never wanted. Things that were beyond his limited emotional ability.

The good deeds he did merely masked the anger that he felt deep inside. The rage he felt for his father. And the fear that it was all inside him too. That darkness. That ability to brutally hurt. He wanted no risk of that. Chelsea of all people didn’t need to be hurt again. He had to walk away.

But he was fucking angry about it. Furious with himself for letting things get this far. He was a damned fool, falling for blue eyes and a swimsuit.

He slammed his glass down on the table. “I’m calling it a night.”

“Good.” Logan answered with an evil tone and took an easy swig of his beer. “Go home and be boring there.”

Xander flipped him the bird and left.

As soon as he opened his apartment door his senses went on high alert. His muscles tensed but he kept his hands loose, bending his knees slightly—ready to either attack or defend. His eyes narrowed, he listened. Then he caught the scent. A little basil.

Chelsea.

“You think you’re so great with security?”

The sound of her voice thumped him in the chest—his heart stopped. Then started again—off beat and skittering.

“A little catburgler like me can sneak in so easily.” She appeared at the end of the hall.

What the fuck was she wearing?

Top to toe she was clad in black. Skin tight, sexier than hell black, with the six-inch heeled, dominatrix boots to finish it off. The only part of her skin visible was her jaw—her pointed chin, her pretty, kissable lips. Right now they were slicked red. Absolute vixen.

“How did you get in?” It hurt to breathe, hurt to move given how hard he was. So he just stayed statue still.

Hands on her hips, she saucily shrugged a shoulder. “I used some contacts.”

Did she now? Xander’s mind whirred.

Logan. He was the only one who could have let her in. Hunter was away. No way in hell would any of the building team let her in. They were too scared of how he’d react. So all the while Logan had been goading him at the bar, he’d known this creature was lying in wait for him?

Damn jerk cousin. And for a moment, mad jealousy rioted through him—that Logan had seen her looking like this? The guy was going down. But Xander had other things to tend to first.

“Catburgler, huh?” He cleared the rock from his throat. “What is it you’re planning on stealing?”

She slowly walked towards him, her spiky heels punctuating her carefully spoken words. “Something very, very precious.”

Hell, he was in trouble. He waited, refusing to risk moving, as she strolled right up to him.

“Cats love to play with their prey…” she said softly. “We love to torment them. We like to let them think they’ve escaped…”

“But they haven’t.”

“No.” She ran a fingernail down his chest. He felt its edge through his shirt. “They can never get away.”

The only sign of nerves was in the slight wobble of her fingers.

“What else you cats like?” he asked, hoarse. Barely containing the urge to grab her. But he was determined to let her lead—she was playing. He ached for her to follow all the way through.

“We like to lick.”

Yeah, he was screwed. His control slipped with every brazen word she uttered. But he summoned enough strength mutter a reply. “Oh you do?”

“Every… last… drop.” That fingernail tapped sharply—staccato to her smooth purred words.

His innards burned, muscles seized—wanting to burst free from the confines of his skin. “And then?”

“We devour.”

He closed his eyes, refusing to come on the spot. Refusing to grab and take in a ferocious frenzy.

“Chelsea.” He all but begged for mercy. “I can’t be…” he huffed out a breath and tried again. “It’s been too long since I saw you. I’m like… a bullet here.”

He wanted her. Wanted, wanted, wanted. Her beneath him. Savage and raw and rough. He wanted to ram into her so hard, to have her all and his. He wanted it so much and so instantly, he didn’t think it could be any good for her.

“You want me to lose control?” His voice cracked and he shook his head. “You’d better tie me up.” He warned. “I’ve missed you too much to be gentle.”

Her eyes were on fire. He didn’t miss the way her hips did a little rotate—a small circle, the heat inside was making her dance already.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “You won’t hurt me.”

But he couldn’t help noticing she backed up a pace.

“I might,” he said. Honest.

Shaking her head she laughed. “I’m strong. So strong. And so are you,” she murmured, taking another step back. “Besides…” Her eyes glittered. “You’d have to catch me first.”

He froze for one moment, stunned as she laughed—really laughed right at him. And then she ran.

A heartbeat later he was running too—thundering quickly around the apartment. Hunting her.

She was playing with him. Really playing. Heart thumping, he wanted to roar with satisfaction. But adrenalin had him, and basic instinct. He wanted to win. He caught sight of her darting into the kitchen.

Cat and mouse? Right now he didn’t know who was who.

He got into the kitchen a split second after she’d gone out the other door to the dining room. He listened, hearing her heels tap unevenly on the wood as she skipped as quickly as she could given her weaker leg. The corridor.

He retraced his steps, got to the door just as she was opening it. He reached above her and slammed it shut but she ducked out from under his arm.