Once Her Man, Always Her Man(9)

“I don’t think it’s ever hurt this good,” she murmured. She wanted to feel his skin, to see his body, to touch every inch of him with her hands and her mouth. He covered her hands with one of his, halting her action.

“Becca, stop.” The order shuddered through the desire questing in her system.

“You don’t want me?” The traitorous words slipped out before she could stop them. Even in the low light cast by the dashboard, she saw the words strike their mark.

“Baby, I want you more than I can say. But not like this, not because you’re feeling sorry for me.”

He couldn’t have cooled her ardor faster if he’d slapped her. “Sorry for you?” She repeated the words, hardly believing them. “Sorry for you?”

“Becca….” His tone shifted, wary. She tore away, ignoring her body’s lonely cry as she tumbled onto the passenger seat. She grabbed the door handle and jerked it open, all but falling out of the truck.

He was out the driver’s side door and circling around even as she found her shoes and her purse. The cold night air provided the bracing reality check she needed against the wild desire riding hard through her body.

“Becca, wait.”

“The hell I will.” Fury pounded in her temples, mingling with her aggravated desire and frustrated need. “That wasn’t feeling sorry for you, you…you…jerk.” She punched her finger at his chest. “That was me loving you.” He took one step back as her finger jabbed him again. “That was me reaching out to you.”

Another jab. Another step back.

“That was me wanting you.” She jabbed him one more time. “I have never felt sorry for you. I grieved with you. I hurt with you. I missed you until I thought my heart would wither and die. But I have never pitied you.”

She whirled, fueled by eleven years of loneliness and betrayal. She had no idea where the hell they’d parked, but she couldn’t stay there. Not for this. Not when her love bled like a raw wound, the stitches she’d knitted around her broken heart tearing loose.

“Becca, I love you.”

And now he has to go and say that.





Chapter Four





Luke clenched his fists, forcing himself to wait. If he touched her again, they would be in the bed of his truck and he’d be driving away all his good intentions as he thrust into her hot, sweet, willing body. He’d called himself a fool for stopping her. The first, sweet taste of her lips in over a decade, and time turned back to high school.

No, not high school—home.

Home. For the first time since he walked out of the damn park, he’d come home. Too much between them to not do this right, to not answer the questions that he’d left burning between them.

No way would he walk away this time, but she deserved every opportunity he’d denied her. Her fury was a beautiful thing. Her swollen lips glistened, her face flushed, and her eyes sparked. His radiant Rebecca, so righteous in her fury.

“Babe, I love you.” He repeated slowly, watching the slim line of the back she’d turned on him. Again. He knew every inch of her, not as intimately as he might like, but he used to be an expert in her expressions, body language, and soul. He might be rusty, but he trusted his instincts. She didn’t run.

Not now.

“What do you want from me?” Pain wrenched through every word.

It’s now or never, Dexter. Man up, Marine.

“I want to tell you about the worst day of my life.” Not an eloquent man, he couldn’t even pretend. But Becca needed truth. She needed honesty. If it hurt him, then he deserved the stripes on his soul for every injury, real or imagined, he’d inflicted on her.

The park had been redubbed President George Bush Park in 2005, but it would always be Preston Park to him. Still the place he met his girlfriend to break her heart.

And mine.

Her shoulders lifted, her head tilted upward. She sucked in a noisy breath of air, exasperation taut in the expression she turned back toward him. Standing there, stocking feet on the hard asphalt, spiky heels in one hand, purse in the other, rumpled dress, and disheveled hair, she seemed both patient and pissed.

God, I love her.

“I’m listening.” If that was the best she had to offer, he’d take it.

“Get back in the truck so you’re not cold?” He tacked the question mark on as an afterthought, but when her eyebrows rose, he backed off. He could warm her feet up when they finished.

“Mom died. Brianna died. Dad went away. I was pissed. Angrier than I’ve ever been about anything. I wanted to do something about it. The Marines offered me a way to not only avenge them, but to honor them, too. I can’t even tell you when the idea entered my head.” He fought for neutrality. He didn’t like explaining himself to anyone. But she isn’t just anyone, she’s the only one.