Hail Mary, page 15
“You’re the one who’s going to put him in jail. You should have told me.”
He only shook his head. “Tell Wynn I’m here.”
“Why? You didn’t want to talk to her before. Why should she want to talk to you now?”
God help him. “Jenna.”
“What? You hurt her.”
“I know,” he snarled. “But I can’t make it right if you won’t let me fucking talk to her.”
Jenna’s eyes widened. Her mouth fell open.
“Sorry,” he muttered and sliced the rain from his face again. “It’s been a long day.”
She stared at him, silent.
“Please,” he grated.
“Are you really going to arrest him?” she asked, her voice small.
“Yes.”
She swallowed. “There’s nothing we can do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is that why the Ken doll is here?”
“The Ken doll?”
“Mr. We Have More Important Matters.” She made a face. “Such a dick.”
“You need to watch your language,” he told her sternly, even though a smile pulled at his mouth.
The Ken doll. Garrett would lose his shit if she called him that.
“If the shoe fits.” She shrugged. Hesitated. “If I tell you where she is, do you promise to apologize?”
“Yes,” he said evenly.
For a long moment, she said nothing, that unnervingly perceptive gray gaze surveying him. Then, “She’s in the barn. She’s got a pitchfork, though, so you should be careful.”
He turned and started down the steps. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Beau,” Jenna said.
He looked at her over his shoulder.
“Don’t do it again,” she said.
His gaze met hers. “I won’t.”
She nodded and closed the door.
More promises he shouldn’t be making.
To her; to Jack Farley.
Mistakes. And here he was, about to make a few more.
He no longer cared.
The barn was lit by warm amber light as he approached, rays that spilled out and kissed the falling rain in gold. The ground was soaked, his feet sinking into several inches of water, making the uneven surface even more painful and treacherous. The large oaks that dotted the property creaked with the wind. Beyond the rain, he could hear the rushing water of a stream, and he wondered how high it was, how much danger it would present to the property if the rain continued.
One of the dusky gray donkeys greeted him as he stepped through the open door, into the blessedly dry, warm atmosphere. Wynn was on the far end, clad in her worn overalls, a pair of black rubber boots, and a black tank top. She stabbed the pitchfork she held into a bale of straw and tossed the pale yellow strands into the stall next to her.
Her movements were practiced, the muscle in her arms flexing, sleek and strong, her familiarity with the chore clear. But she was definitely agitated. Stabbing the fork into the straw, tossing it into the stall.
Stab, toss. Stab, toss.
“Am I the fork or the hay?” he asked.
“You’re nothing,” she replied flatly.
And he didn’t like that response. Not one bit.
No matter how entitled to it she was.
He limped toward her, trying to ignore the ache in his leg that had grown into searing, tearing pain. “We need to talk.”
“No, you need to leave.” Her voice was grim. “Or I might just stab you.”
She was furious.
Heat licked along his veins.
He’d been anticipating this confrontation since she’d stormed away from him, and he was more than ready to go a few rounds. He might owe her an apology, but she owed him, too. “I warned you not to threaten me.”
“Oopsie.” Stab, toss. Stab, toss. “Was that your aorta I just perforated?”
Beau halted and tried to rein in the dangerous mix of fear and hunger and sickening desperation inside of him. He rubbed his leg and looked around; the other donkey stuck her head out of the stall next to him and neighed.
“Hey, girl,” he murmured and reached out to rub her nose.
“You think I’m kidding?” Stab, toss. Stab, toss. “Just try me, tin man.”
Wynn’s open agitation smashed into his, ratcheting the tension riding him until it was taut as a well-strung bow. The anticipation and the heat and all of the hungry need he’d finally let loose inside him. Freed. Reaching for her now, uncaring of anything but putting them both out of their misery.
A moo sounded; the dairy cow eyeballed him from a stall opposite the donkey’s. A large window filled with leaded glass sat beside the stall, open just a crack. Beneath it, on a narrow wooden shelf, sat a small silver box. It had dials and nobs and two long, slender lengths of silver wire that had been threaded through the crack in the window.
It looked like an old CB radio.
“What’s this?” he asked and moved toward it.
“None of your beeswax, that’s what.”
A small blue notebook and pen sat beside the machine. Beau reached for it.
“It belongs to Sean,” Wynn said sharply. “Leave it alone.”
Sean Evers. Whose name Beau had run only to discover he was—at least seemingly—legit. A well-known, well-respected biologist at the forefront of the fight to save the rapidly dwindling population of the world’s amphibians. Sought after by accredited universities and a superstar of conferences on ecosystem loss. Hell, Beau had even found a reference to a Ted Talk.
Which should have reassured him, but didn’t.
And today, Evers had earned another mark against him. Beau didn’t care if he was being protective. Something wasn’t right about Sean Evers. Beau couldn’t put his finger on it, but the man he saw, and the one portrayed on paper, weren’t the same.
He picked up the pen and put it in his pocket.
“Beau.”
He looked up to see Wynn watching him. A fine glisten of sweat kissed her skin; she was breathing hard, her breasts lifting and falling. Strands of that rich, sherry colored hair had escaped the messy bun on her head to cling to her flushed cheeks.
She was beautiful, like a fresh, ripe peach.
He wanted to take a bite.
But she leaned against the pitchfork and stared silently at him, her beautiful mouth an unhappy line.
I did that.
“We’re going to arrest Earl tomorrow,” he said.
She only stared at him, her eyes shuttered, as bright and hard as any diamond.
“I’ll make sure he’s well taken care of,” he added.
She said nothing. And that feeling of suffocating panic, the one he’d nearly choked on earlier, flooded through him.
“Say something,” he growled.
“Go home.”
Not words he wanted to hear, but something at least.
He stalked toward her. “You came by to talk to me.”
She watched him get closer, offering no response.
“You asked for my help,” he reminded her darkly.
“That was a mistake,” she said. And there was nothing at all in her voice. Not anger or pain or even annoyance. It was just…
Opaque.
Which made the simmering panic turn to a boil.
“It wasn’t a fucking mistake,” he snarled.
She only blinked at him, as unmoved and distant as any statue.
Fire burned through him; his heart beat like a drum. Adrenaline and fear and need twisted around him like sharp, finely barbed wire and squeezed.
He halted a handful of feet from her, just outside of pitchfork range. “Put that damn thing down.”
A cold smile curved her mouth. “Afraid I’m fantasizing again?”
A jolt of pure, incendiary lust shot through him, and just like that, he was ready.
For anything.
“Put it down, Wynn,” he said, his voice rough.
Her smile faded. “We’re done. You should go.”
Done. The word cut him.
“We haven’t even started yet,” he told her in a hard voice.
She stared at him. He took a step.
“Keep pushing,” she said. “See where it gets you.”
Oh, he would. He simply couldn’t help himself. “I know you’re mad.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m disappointed.”
The cut deepened.
Then she turned and stabbed the pitchfork into the straw.
Stab, toss. Stab, toss.
He’d been dismissed.
Thunder boomed down; the lights flickered. The donkeys whinnied nervously.
Stab, toss. Stab, toss.
A sudden, searing bolt of pain shot from his hip to the tips of his toes, and his patience and control snapped like a twig.
He took a step, wrenched the pitchfork from her hands, and threw it to the hard-packed dirt floor. When she hissed at him, he wrapped his hands around her arms and pushed her back against the wall, closing the space between them until he was towering over her, a hairsbreadth from touching her.
The toned muscle of her arms flexed beneath his hold; she growled at him.
“Just calm the hell down,” he grated, his throat thick.
Her heat and scent washed over him in a warm, seductive tide. The tensile feel of her in his hands made his cock throb. So vibrant and alive.
How had he ever thought he could resist?
“I’m perfectly calm,” she snarled. Then she lifted her knee and did her damnedest to send his balls into his throat
He managed to avoid it. Barely.
“Knock it off.” He pushed her against the wall and leaned into her, using his weight to still her movement; the collision of their bodies made a violent tremor move through him. Heat licked at his spine. “Let me talk to you.”
“Keep your stinking words!” She slammed her palms into his chest and pushed. When that didn’t work, she bucked against him, and he hardened instantly, a furious, dizzying rush that felt like live current plugged into his spine. His hands tightened on her arms. A harsh sound broke from his chest.
“Wynn.” He pressed his mouth against her ear. “Stop.”
She bucked again.
Jesus Christ.
He lifted her from her feet, just to stop her from doing it a third time. Because if she kept it up, he wasn’t sure what he might do.
“Put me down,” she ordered raggedly. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, nails digging into his skin.
Another tremor shook him. Her breasts were soft and lush against him, and he could feel the hard points of her nipples. The soft swell of her belly cradled his cock, which was throbbing, exquisite, intoxicating pulses that were scrambling his brains. He knew she could feel him, like granite against her, and he told himself to ease off.
Let go.
But he didn’t. Wasn’t even sure he could.
She felt so good.
“When I turned around and saw you and Jenna standing there, less than ten feet from those assholes and their guns, my fucking heart stopped.” His voice was guttural. “It scared the hell out of me.”
Her nails dug deeper. She was painfully tense against him. “We aren’t yours to protect, Beau.”
Denial surged through him. He surrendered to the hunger and nipped her earlobe with sharp teeth. “I know I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
She pushed against him. “Don’t.”
“I’m trying to fucking apologize,” he grated.
“Is that what you’re doing?” Her voice was unsteady. “Because it feels like a lot more than that.”
Oh, it is.
“Beau,” she whispered.
And he thought: fuck it.
“Goddamn you.” His voice was raw. He let himself sink into the cradle of her body and shuddered. “I gave up and I liked it. Then you came along, poking the bear, no judgment, no pity. Looking at me like you see me, accepting what I can’t even fucking accept myself.”
His hands skimmed down her arms, found the hollows of her overalls, and slid inside. The small of her back was bare, like silk against his rough palms. He let his hands glide down, skimming her thin cotton panties, curving possessively over her ripe, lush bottom; then he lifted her against him until his cock was pressed into the warm, welcoming notch of her thighs.
“Oh,” Wynn said and arched sharply against him.
His fingers dug into her; he couldn’t help but thrust. She made a soft, hungry sound that squeezed him like a tight fist.
“I told myself to walk away,” he continued raggedly. “I’m fucking useless, a wasted limb. I know you deserve more. But I can’t do it.” He let his hands slide further down until he could stroke the hot, damp gusset of her panties with the tips of his fingers; she sucked in a sharp breath, and a violent tremor made his leg lock into place. “I don’t want to let you go.”
Her hands slid into his hair; her legs lifted to wrap his hips, and Beau thrust again, unable to stop himself.
“Please,” she whispered, and her nails dug into his scalp. “Don’t stop.”
He couldn’t have denied her, even if he tried. He thrust again. She hissed. He rubbed his bristled chin down the silken line of her throat; found that tender place where her neck and shoulder met. Bit her.
And thrust again.
“Oh,” she said again, sharper, and ground herself against him. “More.”
Beau pressed them both into the wall; his leg trembled. But he couldn’t stop.
Wouldn’t.
“Please,” she whispered jaggedly.
So he gave her what she asked for, another hard thrust that slammed them both back into the wall.
“Holy crap,” she gasped. “That’s…”
His fingertips slid beneath her panties and found the dark heart of her. “Yes.”
A cry broke from her when he stroked her there, gliding through the slippery, silken flesh that was weeping for him.
For him.
He lifted his head. She was panting, her skin flushed, her beautiful lips parted. When her eyes met his, they were soft and dreamy, shining like pewter. Her fingers were pulling his hair; her thighs were squeezing him tight, and she was shuddering beneath his touch; her body growing wetter, hotter, softer.
“Please,” she said again.
He could smell her; it made him want to taste. He couldn’t look away. She surged against him and ground against his cock, and he nearly came.
“Christ,” he hissed.
“Again,” she insisted and tugged at his hair.
“Kiss me,” he whispered harshly. “And I’ll make you come.”
She trembled against him. Her dark eyes touched his mouth; she licked her lips.
“Come on, sweetheart.” He pressed her into the wall. “Let me in.”
For one breathless moment, he thought she would refuse. But then she tugged him toward her and pressed her lips against his.
A sweet kiss, hesitant and untried. It just about broke him.
And then she opened.
He stroked his tongue into her mouth and thrust again.
She moaned; the kiss deepened. Wet, hungry, sexual. He took her mouth like he wanted to take her body, and she sucked on his tongue and rode his cock while her body wept into his hands.
His spine was tingling; she was trembling.
He thrust harder and they both climbed higher.
He wanted to see her breasts. Stroke her skin; suck her nipples. Bury himself so deep, she didn’t know where he ended and she began.
Need to be inside of her. Need—
“Wynn? Is everything okay? You didn’t pitchfork him, did you?”
Jenna’s voice sliced through him like a blade.
Wynn’s thighs gripped him tighter, a raw, desperate sound broke from her. Beau wrapped his arms around her and stepped sideways, into the stall out of sight. His leg trembled beneath her weight, and the dynamic motion sent pain searing through him.
“Wynn?” Jenna repeated.
And Wynn froze.
“Jenna,” he ground into her ear. His hands tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t give a damn.
He wanted to finish what he’d started.
Make her come. Make them both come.
But she was tensing, and Jenna was getting closer, and the moment had been lost.
For now.
Wynn’s thighs slid down his legs; he set her down gently, steadying them both. His hands lingered on the bare, silken strip of skin between the bottom of her shirt and the lace edge of her panties; then he slid his hands slowly from her overalls, his gaze locked on hers, enjoying the dewy flush in her skin, the soft gray of her eyes. The lush width of her mouth, swollen and red from his kiss.
Her breath was coming in unsteady spurts. She reached up and covered her cheeks.
“Holy crap,” she whispered.
Her hands were shaking; Beau could relate.
He reached out, thrust his hand into her messy bun, and pulled her toward him.
“I told you,” he said, his voice harsh, his hand gentle, “we’re just getting started.”
And then he kissed her, a hard, possessive, too-brief press of his mouth to hers, and when he pulled away, her gaze crashed into his, and suddenly they were back where they started. The air thickened; heat flared. Wynn inhaled sharply, and Beau made himself turn away.
“Go,” he told her roughly.
“Winifred Louise!” Jenna yelled. “Is everything okay? I’m coming in!”
“Go,” he said again. “Winifred Louise.”
“I’m going to strangle her,” Wynn muttered.
But she went.
Chapter 19
Shameless.
That’s what she was.
Don’t stop, she’d said. Please. More.
And Beau…he’d delivered.
Wynn stared up at the plaster ceiling above her bed and wondered why.
Why had she just…surrendered?
She’d learned not to trust at a very young age. Not her mother; not any of the people who surrounded her mother. She’d had to run from both more than once because her mother would try to barter her for the poison that ruled their lives.
Only Wynn’s awareness had saved her. Her reflexes; the savagery with which she fought if anyone got too close. But most of the time, she’d run, willing to face any danger to escape the hell that chased her. She would hide until it was safe, and then, because she had no choice—Lara was still her mother, which was better than being alone on the streets—she would return.
