Shattered: An Extreme Risk Novel (31 page)

Then he’s thrusting against me, once, twice. Pouring into me with long, brutal jerks of his hips.

His orgasm goes on and on and I love every second of it. I love knowing that I did this to him. I love knowing that he wants me, needs me. And most of all, I love bringing him pleasure, love seeing Ash’s normally tense face relax as ecstasy sweeps through him.

When it’s over, when Ash has finally pulled away from me, we stumble to the bed. He pulls me down with him, tucks me against his body, and holds me for long, lovely minutes.

We’re lying in Tansy’s bed and it feels so good—she feels so good—that I want to stay here forever. Spooned up against her, her head on my bicep, my other arm wrapped around her waist. It’s not possible—I know it’s not—but I want it just the same.

I haven’t felt this at peace in a long time.

Even with Logan so upset with me.

Even with so much of my life turned to shit around me.

Being with Tansy doesn’t negate everything else in my life, doesn’t make it seem less important. But holding her, kissing her, making love to her, grounds me in a way nothing has in far too long.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about that. What I
can
do about that. I came here to Chile because I couldn’t not come. Because I was maneuvered into it and because it was the right thing to do. But never, when I got on that plane in Salt Lake City, did it occur to me that five days later I was going to end up here. Wrapped around this beautiful girl—beautiful on the inside as well as the outside—and wondering how the hell I’m supposed to go back to a life that doesn’t have her in it.

Just the thought has me tightening my arm around her waist, has me burying my face in her fire-engine red hair and closing my eyes as I breathe her in. She smells so good, so sweet, so comforting, that I want to stay here—right here—forever.

Except Tansy’s having none of it.

She struggles against my hold a little, twisting and turning until I loosen my grip. Then she rolls over so that we’re face-to-face and she’s looking me in the eye.

“Hey,” she murmurs, her hand coming up to cup my jaw, stroke my face.

I turn my head a little so that her hand is resting against my lips. I close my eyes, press soft, open-mouthed kisses to her palm.

She shivers a little, scoots even closer so that her soft, sweet, fragile body is tight against mine. Nothing has ever felt better and there’s a part of me that wants to say to hell with responsibilities and the real world and what’s supposed to happen next and just hold on to Tansy for as long as I can. For as long as she’ll let me.

She’s like quicksilver, this girl. Like water, slipping through my fingertips. Every time I think I’m beginning to figure her out, she changes. New clothes, new hair, new attitude. Except, this time, even with the bright red and blond hair, even with the ripped jeans and flannel shirts, I think I see the real her peeking through the disguise.

I see the bright, inquisitive eyes.

I see the sweet, sweet smile.

And I see the care and concern she doesn’t even try to hide.

I know it’s coming even before she opens her mouth to speak, but still it jars me a little when she says, “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“I don’t—” I break off, not sure what to say here.

Tansy raises her eyebrows at me. “Not that I’m objecting to the very hot sex we just had—please feel free to ravish me at any time—but something’s going on. I can see it here—” She rubs at the corners of my mouth. “And here.” She presses soft kisses to the spot between my brows.

“And I can feel it here.” Her hands move to my shoulders and she starts massaging me, her fingers digging deep into the tense muscles of my neck and shoulders.

It feels good. So good that I can barely breathe with it.

“Come on,” she urges. “Roll over.”

And I do, flopping down on my stomach so that she can scramble over me. She straddles my hips, her knees on either side of my ass as she tries to massage the stress away.

She starts at the small of my back, works her way up my spine, inch by very slow, very thorough inch.

It feels good. So good. The massage and the way her hands are on my back. Soft, fluttering, sexy. So sexy. Even though I’ve just had her, even though I’ve just come twice in the space of an hour, I feel my cock start to get hard again. What is it with this girl? She’s like fucking magic, has my body and my brain and my heart acting all kinds of crazy when she’s around.

I take the torture of her hands on me as long as I can, then I roll over, putting my hands on her hips so that I don’t jostle her too much. She’s a little clumsy, my girl, and the last thing I want is for her to fall.

For a moment, I freeze as I realize that I just referred to her as mine. That’s not possible. It’s not what this is supposed to be about.
Mine
. Tansy belonging to me. Me belonging to her. It’s not anything that I can give her, anything that I should even want to give her. And yet, there it is. Right there in front of me, just begging for me to reach out and take. My girl.

Tansy is my girl.

The description sounds better than it has any right to.

Fuck it. I’ve already been ripped to shreds once. What’s one more time if it means I get to have this, now, with her?

Reaching up, I tangle my hands in her short, crimson hair and tug her face down to mine for a kiss.

She smiles against my mouth, lets me explore her lips at my leisure. But the second I start to deepen the kiss, she pulls away. Locks eyes with me. And says, “Tell me what’s wrong, Ash. Let me help.”

“You can’t help.” The words are out before I even know I’m going to say them. “No one can.”

“Maybe not. But keeping it inside isn’t going to do you any good.”

I roll over, pin her beneath me. Settle my cock right up against her and thrust in the gentle rhythm I’ve learned that she likes.

Tansy gasps, arches against me. I bring my hand down to her breast, flick her nipple in that way that makes her eyelashes flutter and her breath catch in her throat. But before I can take it further, before I can press open-mouthed kisses to her breasts, she tangles her hands in my hair and pulls. Hard.

“Hey! What was that for?” I demand, jerking away and rubbing the sore spots she’s just caused on my scalp.

“Stop trying to distract me with sex! I want to talk to you!”

“Fine. Talk.”

“Are you going to listen?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Then I guess I’m listening.” But I get up then, and head to the bathroom, where my clothes are still lying discarded on the floor. If she’s going to push me into talking, I’m damn well going to be clothed while I do it. I’m already feeling vulnerable enough with the way I feel about her mixed up with the way she’s looking at me, like she can see all the crap I’ve worked so hard for so long to keep inside.

Tansy just follows me, though, marching after me completely naked and unself-conscious. And can I just say what an absolute, fucking turn-on that is? This girl, who was so shy a couple days ago, who only wanted to make love in the shadows, is now standing before me totally nude, with her hands on her hips and fire in her eyes.

And yes, I can see the scars on her body that must have been the reason she hid and yes, I want to know what caused them. What hurt her—or who hurt her. But I’m not going to bring it up. Not right now. Not even to keep her from prying into my fight with Logan. Because I don’t want her to know that I see them, don’t want this smart, sexy girl to question even for a second
whether or not her scars matter to me. Don’t want her to believe, even for a second, that I don’t think she’s beautiful.

“So, that’s it? You’re just going to leave?” she demands, glaring at me from her spot next to the bathroom door. “You tell me to talk and you decide not to stick around for it?”

“No. I’m not leaving,” I tell her as I yank my boxer shorts over my ass. There’s a part of me that wants to, though. A part of me that might actually do it except I know Logan would probably kill me if I walked back in our room right now. Not to mention how shitty it would be to pull a fuck and run on Tansy. Even if this thing between us isn’t supposed to be serious, she deserves so much more than that. “Jesus, what do you take me for?”

She still looks suspicious. “Then why are you getting dressed?”

“Because if you’re going to poke at me, I’d prefer you not do it while
I’m
naked.” I pull my jeans up, then reach for my T-shirt.

“Oh, really? Well, excuse me, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the one who does most of the
poking
in this relationship,” she tells me in her haughtiest voice.

She sounds so put out, so proper, so absolutely queenly that I can’t help it. I burst out laughing despite the tension curling within me. Of course, that’s exactly what she intended and she looks so pleased—with herself and with my response—that it’s impossible not to be amused. And endeared.

Abandoning my shirt on the bathroom counter, I yank Tansy into my arms. Nuzzle my face into her neck and just breathe in her sweet, sweet scent for long, powerful seconds. As I do, I feel the stress knot deep inside me start to loosen a little—and with it, my tongue.

“Logan and I had a fight,” I finally mumble into her collarbone.

She nods like she’s been expecting to hear that all along, her hands stroking gently over my hair. I arch into her touch, no longer surprised at how good it feels. “So?”

“What do you mean, so?” I pull away from her and now it’s my turn to glare. “I just had a fight with my crippled brother. He yelled at me and I—” I shake my head, still not believing how badly I lost control. “I yelled back.”

I expect her to jump down my throat, to tell me how terrible it is that I yelled at Logan when he’s just a hurt, fourteen-year-old kid. It’s no more than what I’ve been telling myself for the last hour and a half. But Tansy just stands there, blinking at me, like she’s waiting for more.

When she finally seems to realize that more isn’t coming, she says it again. “So?” She sounds almost bored.

“What do you mean, so? He’s hurt and I yelled at him!”

“And you’re brothers. Brothers fight. I’m pretty sure all siblings do sometimes. I mean, I fight with my brother and sister all the time. It’s kind of the defining characteristic of the relationship, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, your sister sends you to whacked-out porn sites. I’d fight with her, too.”

Tansy laughs at that, as I intend her to. But then she cups my face in her hands, her eyes all soft and shimmery as she looks into mine. It does something to me deep inside, something I’m not quite ready to talk about but that I can’t ignore, either.

“Ash, sweetheart, you’re his brother and his friend, and while Logan is a wonderful, wonderful kid, he is still just a fourteen-year-old kid with the mouth and the attitude to go with it. I remember wanting to kill my brother when he was that age. And I’m sure he felt the same way about me. It’d be strange if you didn’t get fed up with him at times.”

“Yeah, well, your brother didn’t go through a traumatic injury that changed his whole life. I should have more patience.”

“You’ve been through a pretty traumatic experience yourself. Maybe he should have more patience with you?”

“Are you kidding me? He was trapped in that car with our dying parents for two hours while they tried to cut him out. He went into a coma on the way to the hospital, and when he finally woke up days later, his parents were dead and he was paralyzed. I don’t think what I’ve gone through is quite the same thing.”

“No, it’s not. But it’s no less terrible, is it? No less traumatic and life-altering.”

“You don’t understand.”

She laughs then, and it’s the most bitter sound I’ve ever heard her make. “Oh, I understand, Ash. Believe me, I understand.”

I want to know what she means, start to ask her about how she can possibly understand any of what I’m saying. For the first time, I realize how little I know about Tansy. About her past. About where she comes from and why she does the job she does. About all the scars she has on her body.

Something flits through my head, nebulous and unformed, but no less terrifying for all its shadow. I try to grab on to it, try to make the thought form fully, but Tansy grabs my head in her hands and says, “You can feel whatever you want, Ash. No matter how bad you think it is, no matter how awful you think it makes you. These are your emotions. No one has the right to tell you that you can’t feel them.”

“But—”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No buts. Tell me.”

I don’t want to. Fuck, I really don’t want to. I don’t want her to know what’s in my head, don’t want anyone to know how angry and fucked up and terrified I am. But she’s just standing there, watching me with those crazy, ever-changing eyes of hers, and the words just come tumbling out.

The terror that I’m fucking everything up with Logan.

The rage I have at myself, my parents, the fucking universe for doing this to him—and to me.

The fact that I feel like a selfish prick all the time because, even through everything, I miss the feel of fresh powder beneath my board like a junkie misses a fix. I’m jonesing for it, and coming on this trip, riding the half-pipe and that damn backcountry, is like opening a vein and pouring smack straight into it.

I tell Tansy what Logan said, what I said. What he accused me of, and how there’s a part of me that maybe, just maybe, thinks he might be right.

She doesn’t interrupt while I’m talking. Except to get us settled on the bed, where she curls into my lap and wraps herself around my arm, she doesn’t do anything at all. She just listens, letting me get it out.

How I’m terrified of doing something that will hurt Logan.

How I’m afraid of never living up to my parents and what he would have had with them, if they’d lived.

All the poison, all the anger, all the fear. She lets me get it all out.

When I’m done, my head is pounding and my throat is sore from all the uninterrupted talking. I don’t say anything about either, but Tansy must know because she crosses the room and pulls a Coke out of the mini-bar and a bottle of Tylenol out of her purse. She hands me the drink, then shakes two pills into her palm and gives them to me, as well.