Page 35 of In Name Only (Pine Falls 2)

I felt his entire body exhale. “Dani,” he whispered.

I couldn’t bear to look at him. I hated feeling so vulnerable.

“Please look at me.”

My eyes betrayed me and filled with tears before they rose to meet his. “Please put me down.”

“I will, but you need to listen to me first.” His words were soft and kind. “You’re not alone. We’re just figuring things out. Sharing a bed would only . . .”

“Only what? I wouldn’t touch you, if that’s what you want.”

He swallowed hard. “That’s exactly what I want,” he said, his voice suddenly husky. “It’s taking everything I have in me right now not to take you to bed and make love to you.”

Shivers went down my spine. I brushed my fingers across his chest, creating a trail of raised skin. “We are married,” I purred. I began to kiss the angry red scars left on his shoulder, wishing I could take all his pain away.

“Dani,” he whispered.

“Yes?” I continued to kiss his bare shoulder.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

“Why?” I breathed against his skin.

He didn’t respond other than to close his eyes and flex his fingers against my sensitive ribs and thigh.

My lips worked their way across his collarbone and up his neck, inching ever closer to his lips. Soon our breath began to mingle together. He drew my body closer to his. My fingers slid up the back of his neck and entwined themselves in his hair.

He groaned before he could no longer resist. His lips captured mine, wasting no time parting my own. His tongue took its time exploring my mouth. There was no urgency, as there would be if this were to be the last time we would kiss. This was more like a first kiss, a new beginning. While our tongues danced together, he walked us toward the bed. With each step, my heart pounded harder. Tonight, I would become his wife in more than name only. We would become one.

Brock’s lips slid off mine only to press against my neck as he lay me across the bed, his body flush against me. Between gasps I whispered, “I love you.”

His head snapped up. His wide eyes penetrated my own. I could see the turmoil swirling among the sea of blue. He scrambled off me and stood by the bed staring at me, running his hands over his face. “We can’t do this.” He sounded angry with himself. With me.

Though I wasn’t naked, I felt exposed. I sat up and grabbed a pillow, holding it against me, wishing it could shield me from the anguish coursing through me. That it could hide me from Brock and myself.

“Sex is only going to complicate things,” he spouted off.

“Complicate things?” I was confused.

Brock squeezed his eyes shut. “I still picture you with my brother. As hard as I’ve tried not to, I can’t forget it. I wonder what would have happened between you two had I not come home. Would you be here with him now?” His words were cold and unforgiving.

Tears silently streamed down my face. It was like we had taken one step forward today only to take ten steps back tonight. He was never going to forgive me. “I’ve told you how I feel. You either believe me or you don’t.”

His eyes flashed open, and his body instantly flooded red. With a withering scowl, he turned and marched out the door, slamming it as he went.

I crumpled onto the bed, listening to him throw obscenities around for several minutes before another door slammed.

He had left.

In his absence I was encompassed by silence, though my thoughts screamed at me. I hated myself for telling him I loved him, even though truer words had never been spoken.

I curled into a ball, shivering but too overwhelmed to pull a blanket over myself. I was consumed with memories, past and present. Brock was right—sex was complicated, or at least it always had been in my life. For once, I’d hoped it wouldn’t be. That it would be the way I’d promised myself it would be when I found the right person to share my life with.

My first experience with sex had come too early and at the hands of a man much older than me. A foster parents’ son had turned my desire to be loved to his advantage. He’d shown me affection and then taught me a sick, twisted version of love. No, it wasn’t love. But, oh, how I had longed for it to be. For someone to love me—a girl who’d never known any sort of love. Instead, he had exploited my need to get something he wanted. Not only had he used my body, but he had almost killed my soul, as well, by manipulating me to do his bidding. I cringed when I thought of all the things I had done for him; all the way from stealing to selling and taking drugs. All enumerated on John’s lists of things he could use against me. Things I’d thought I had already paid for in regret and time in therapy. Yet here they were again, not only holding me hostage but making me question my worth and judgment.

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