Bring Me to Life. Kira Sinclair
she wasn’t letting him back in her bed. Certainly not until they talked. And probably not even then.
He was different. Harder, colder, though she had seen flashes of the honorable, dedicated man she’d fallen in love with at seventeen underneath the new layers. Sighing, Tatum supposed she was different, as well. They were both evidence that a lot could happen in three years.
Deciding their conversation was probably better saved for the morning when her brain would be less fuzzy, she’d convinced him to wait. The sharp set of his mouth had broadcast just how unhappy he’d been about her decision, but at least he hadn’t argued.
Tatum slipped beneath the sheets, fully expecting to drop right to sleep. Exhaustion pulled at her muscles, but her brain wouldn’t shut up. Thoughts, possibilities and fears, spun like an EF-5 tornado, shredding her composure and leaving her just as devastated as any broken landscape.
Maybe she should have just gotten it over with.
Too late now. No doubt Evan was fast asleep. He’d always been the kind of guy who was out the moment his head hit a pillow, and that skill set had only become more pronounced when he had joined Special Ops.
What was she going to do?
She had no idea. Conflicting wants tore her apart—crawling beside him and wrapping her arms around his big, hard body just so she could assure herself he really was alive warred with yanking him up out of her guest bed and shoving him quickly out the front door.
An hour later, Tatum was still staring at the pattern of shadows playing across her ceiling when a loud whimper crashed into the silent night.
Her body responded, an old habit, as she bounded up from the bed. Her naked feet hit the cold hardwood floor, but she barely registered the winter chill seeping into her.
It wasn’t the first time she’d woken to Evan’s nightmares. He’d been having them as long as she knew him, leftovers from a childhood that had been less than ideal. Their crappy history was something they’d shared.
But as she ran into the room next door, one look was all she needed to realize this was something more.
He wasn’t thrashing around under the covers, eyes closed and ragged sounds falling through half-parted lips.
Evan’s gorgeous hazel eyes, more brown than green, were wide open, but completely unfocused. He crouched in the corner of the room, his back pressed tight against the wall. If she hadn’t heard the unintelligible words pouring from his mouth in harsh whispers, she might not have seen him in the shadows. He’d found the darkest spot in the room, and with his black hair, tanned skin and stubble-covered jaw, he nearly blended in. She could just make out the heavy lines of the tattoos covering his chest and ribs in the gloom.
Tatum’s heart clenched at the sight of him. It was wrong to see such a strong, noble man hunkered down in the corner as if defending his very life.
Uncertainty froze her limbs. The harsh sound of his breathing finally galvanized her into motion. She had to do something.
With measured steps, she moved closer, her hands lifted up, palms out to show she meant no harm.
“Evan,” she said cautiously. “Sweetheart.” The word she hadn’t said for so long felt foreign in her mouth. “You’re fine. You’re safe.”
Stopping several feet away, Tatum crouched in front of him, hoping to catch his gaze. But when she did, she realized he was still...asleep. Or caught up in whatever nightmare had ripped into him. Definitely not focused on the here and now.
She shifted, and the world exploded. Or at least it felt that way.
Suddenly, she was on her back, her head cracking against the hard floor, her left shoulder colliding with the edge of the dresser. And all of Evan’s weight drove against her, pushing oxygen from her body.
She let out a soft cry with whatever breath she had left.
His hands dug into her muscles, pinning her in place. Leaning down, he growled into her ear. She realized he wasn’t speaking gibberish, but another language she didn’t understand.
She didn’t need to know the words to realize whatever he was saying wasn’t nice. His menacing tone was more than enough.
The pain that had exploded through her body on impact faded. Tears sprang to her eyes, not from that, but from the realization that there was so much she didn’t know...or understand. Gripping his waist, for the first time in three years, Tatum felt the soft slide of his skin against her fingertips. Need, lust and love exploded through her, a potent combination she didn’t have room for right now.
Pushing her body’s reaction away, she smoothed her hands up his ribs, over his chest to cup his face.
“Evan,” she whispered, pulling him down even as she rose to brush her lips across his mouth in a butterfly kiss.
What she’d meant to be something soothing quickly burst into fully involved flame.
His mouth devoured hers, all hunger and heat and demand. She was helpless to fight off her response to him. His wide palms settled, one at her hip, the other at the curve of her neck, arching her closer. He immobilized her beneath him, the hard length of his body holding her prisoner.
Not that she wanted free. She wanted more. Even as her brain screamed at her to stop, her body simply melted, turning gooey as a marshmallow introduced to heat.
His tongue swept into her mouth, tangling, stroking, teasing. He crowded against her, giving her no place to go, nothing to counter the drowning need.
God, she’d missed this. Missed him. So damn much. No man had ever made her feel the way Evan did. Desired. Alive. Protected. Cherished.
The combination was addictive. And always had been.
But she wasn’t a seventeen-year-old kid anymore.
His hips, clad in loose-fitting sweats, slid against hers, pumping in a slow and deliberate way that caused liquid heat to pool in the center of her body. The length of his erection, caught between them, ground into her, making her own hips pulse in quick, pleading jerks.
What was wrong with her? Where had her resolve gone? At the first touch of his strong body against hers, she was crumbling like an ancient ruin.
Tatum knew the exact moment Evan came back to himself. Pressed so closely together, she felt the jolt of awareness as it slammed into him.
Before she could blink, he ripped away from her. His back collided with the wall, the room practically shaking from the impact. From her vantage point on the floor, she could see long red welts forming across his skin where her nails had torn through him. He didn’t seem to notice the pain that must have come with the scratches.
Horrified, he stared at her for several seconds before finally sliding down the wall. Burying his face in two wide, rough palms, he whispered, “Jesus.”
The sound of the single, broken word sent regret, pain and fear tumbling through her. What the hell had he lived through?
Finally looking up, he peered at her out of hard, dead eyes that did more to scare her than being flung unceremoniously onto her back. “Leave. Now, Tatum.”
And that pissed her off.
“No, Evan. This is my house, my guest room. I’m not going anywhere.”
For the second time tonight, his big body exploded outward in a flurry of movement and muscle. He tore away from the wall, stalking toward her with a menace that was clearly meant to intimidate. And it had probably been very effective on his enemies, but Tatum knew Evan. Possibly better than he knew himself.
Or she used to.
But she trusted her instincts, which were telling her he’d hurt himself before he’d ever hurt her.
At least, physically.
She swallowed. The confidence she’d been shoring up wavered as he got closer.