Tyler O’Neill’s Redemption (17 page)

“It’s Friday night,” she said. “They’re making plans he didn’t want me to hear.”

“Ah.”

“Speaking of plans,” she said, an awkward cheer in her voice, “are you at Remy’s tonight?”

He nodded.

“Maybe…maybe I’ll see you there,” she said, her smile flirty, as if they didn’t have a million years of past between them. As if the threat of real heartache wasn’t a lit fuse that could destroy them both. Again. He sobered.

“What are you doing, Juliette?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

He reached out and turned her to face him, looking hard into her eyes, seeing every insecurity he felt. Every ounce of love and desire and fear.

“What are you doing, Juliette?” he whispered again and he knew, he could see it in her eyes, that she understood him.

“Do I have to know right now?”

He nodded. “I can’t do casual, Juliette. Not with you.”

She swallowed and he stepped closer, pushing his fingers into her hair. He could feel her heart hammer against the heel of his palm. The scent of lemons flooded him.

“If you come out to Remy’s tonight,” he murmured, “be prepared.”

“For what?” she breathed.

“For me,” he said, and pressed a whisper of a kiss against her sweet lips.

She’s not coming.

How could she not?

You should be glad. Relieved.

I want her so much I can’t stand it anymore.

Raquel, the singer, stopped singing and Mitch at the drum kit played his last fill when Tyler realized he was still playing the chords of the chorus.

“We’re going to take a quick break,” Raquel said, the perfect ebony of her skin absorbing the lights. The woman had shoulders like an archer and a voice like a songbird.

Maybe I should start something up with Raquel,
he thought, sick of himself and Juliette and the past.
With Raquel I could do casual. And maybe casual is what I need. Maybe casual is all I’ll ever need.

“Ty,” Raquel said, coming to stand between him and the crowd. “You with us tonight?”

“Right here,” he muttered, lifting the hem of his shirt and wiping his forehead.

“The hell you are,” Mitch said, his hand over the microphone.

“You’re playing like the living dead,” Raquel said, slightly more sympathetic. “If you need time—”

“I don’t need time,” he snapped. Everything in him was wound so tight he was about to burst. “I’m fine. Let’s just keep playing.”

She shook her head. “Baby, I don’t let anyone make me look bad, and you are walking real close to that line.”

He sighed. Freaking prima donnas. “Hey, you take care of you and I’ll—”

Behind Raquel he caught a glimpse of jet-black hair, skin like cocoa. He leaned back, his heart a jackhammer against his ribs.

In the middle of the emptying dance floor, in a red dress that told him every secret her body ever wanted kept, was Juliette.

He stood, the bench screeching against the stage.

“Ty!” Raquel cried as he leaped off the stage.

Everything vanished, Raquel, Mitch, the rest of the set—the entire world just disappeared and it was Juliette. Right here.

Right now.

Ten years of missing him and wanting him and trying to cool the fire that raged in her with lesser men exploded inside of her.

Here. Now. On the damn dance floor in front of everyone—it didn’t matter. She needed Tyler’s touch. She needed him, hard and high inside of her, touching places no one else ever seemed to find.

Finally, he was there, the smell of sweat and beer and sex rolling off of him. In his eyes there wasn’t even a question. There was only happiness and delicious, delicious lust.

He grabbed her hand, his fingers twining with hers and the ache between her legs was so painful, so expectant, she wanted to scream.

There was nothing to say. No words that could make what was happening any clearer. She tugged on his hand, leading him toward the back patio where hardly anyone went.

The cool air was a gorgeous relief against her chest, bare legs and face for just one moment before the furnace of Tyler pressed against her back.

“You’re here.” His breath feathered across her neck and her nipples went so hard so fast, she gasped.

“You ready?” he asked, and she nodded, words beyond her.

“Tell me, Juliette,” he said. “Say the words.”

“I’m ready.”

“For?”

Oh, man, she was going to fall apart. She was going to burn to ash. His fingertips brushed, just barely, against the skin of her breast.

“What are you ready for, Juliette?” he asked, his voice a purr, his fingers a feather against her ribs, her stomach.

She turned and looked him right in the eye. “You,” she whispered.

He groaned and kissed her. She expected a devouring. Something wild and rough. But what she got was tender, reverent. Tyler O’Neill at his sweetest and most restrained, and it tore her apart like nothing else.

She pulled back to look into his face, taut with lust, with a rigid control that she loved and wanted to demolish at the same time. His hair, sun shot and rumpled, fell over his eyes.

He smiled, everything in him beaming out toward her, like arms reaching for her. Like love and laughter. Like a family. Like belonging.

And she fell. She fell right back into love with Tyler O’Neill.

“Look,” he said. “Not that I’m about ten seconds from ripping that dress off you. But I understand if this is too fast—”

Honestly, how could I not love him?
she wondered, awestruck by his grace.

“Is it too fast for you?” she asked.

His laugh was pained.

“I didn’t think so.” She reached for him, but his hands braced against her hips and held her away.

“No, Juliette,” he whispered.

“No, what?” she asked, not comprehending, lust making a mess of her head.

“Not like this. We’re not kids sneaking around anymore, are we?”

“No,” she whispered. “We’re not.”

“Then let’s do this right,” he said. “Let’s go back to your place.”

“My place?” she asked. “Not your old single bed at The Manor?”

His eyelids flinched. “My dad’s there,” he said, and stroked her arm, raising gooseflesh up and down her body.

“I could meet him,” she offered. She didn’t particularly want to, but Priscilla’s comments about pulling Tyler to good and bad pieces and only loving the good parts rang in her head. “You know…officially.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want him anywhere near you,” he said. And she knew what he meant and wanted to protest—she wasn’t something he needed to protect or keep clean. She was ready for him and all his skeletons.

His kiss burned away her noble thoughts and all she wanted was him alone for several hours. Getting to know the family could wait.

Stopping was torture, but she threw back her hair and took his hand.

“Let’s go,” she said.

He turned off his ignition and jumped out of the car, getting to her just as she closed her own door.

She was gorgeous in the shadows, her hair an inky mystery. He touched a curl as it rested against her bare shoulder and then slid his hands up until he cupped her head and she gasped. Electricity surrounded them, crackling and popping.

“Second thoughts?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered. “Absolutely not.”

“Good,” he said, and kissed her. He nipped at her full lips until they opened and his tongue touched hers.

She pushed against him. “I didn’t drive all this way to do this against my car,” she muttered, her eyes flashing.

“Lead the way,” he said, stepping back, but not letting go of her hand.

They didn’t bother with small talk, or light. She opened her door, he kicked it shut. She led him through the dark house and all he watched was the sway of her hips. She could have been leading him to hell, for all he cared.

In the bedroom he got a quick impression of a purple comforter and lingerie spilling out of an open dresser drawer before she turned to face him.

She glowed in the shadows, lit from within by a fire that he had longed to warm himself by for as long as he could remember. He was humbled because she stood there as a woman who frankly knew better than to get involved with him.

And she still chose him.

She grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head and throwing it on the floor. “Look at you,” she breathed, her hands on his chest, the muscles of his stomach. “Tyler O’Neill, all grown up. You’re like a statue.”

He nearly laughed. Part of him sure felt like a statue.

He found the zipper under her arm and pulled it down, the dress rippling down to the floor. Suddenly, there she was. Juliette Tremblant in a whisper of black silk and shadows.

Her body was still so taut. Strong. Her breasts small but perfect, her hips a little bigger, rounder. Womanly. He ran a finger from her collarbone to the lace between her legs.

“I can’t believe you let me touch you,” he said, awed, curling his fingertip around the elastic and pulling it down just enough that dark curls appeared around his finger.

Juliette’s breath hitched, her eyelids fluttered.

He knew this was fast, that there were a thousand steps he was missing, body parts he should get reacquainted with first, but her head tilted back and she gripped his wrist, urging him, ever so slightly, on.

He worked a finger through those curls to the hot little slit waiting for him. He felt her desire like humidity and he slid that finger just inside. To that hot spot.

She gasped, her knees buckling and she reached forward and grabbed his belt. He grazed her clitoris with the callus on his fingertip, the smallest touches and she reacted like he was using dynamite.

She leaned forward, resting her head against his chest, and he slid his finger deeper, finding the open well of her body. She moaned deep in her throat.

Something dark was building between them. Something hotter than anything they might have shared in the past.

He twisted his hand and another finger entered her and her hands cupped his shoulder, nails biting into his skin. With her other hand she tore at his belt, pawing at the fly of his pants until they puddled at his feet.

He kicked off his shoes, stepped free of his pants, and they were both naked, a shaft of moonlight slicing across them. His hand against the dark nest of curls was illuminated, her eyes, dilated and glowing with hunger.

Her hand slid down his arm to his waist and then curled around his shaft, her thumb circling the head of his penis, her fingers squeezing. He gasped against the pleasure, speared his fingers deeper and harder into her, feeling her hips begin to thrust against him.

The need to release began its long downhill roll and he knew he couldn’t last long.

Then Juliette pulled him back toward the bed, his hand slipping away from her. They lay down, him on top of all her silky warm skin, and he wanted to die, right there, her naked and trembling body pressed against his.

He heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper being opened and then her fingers were back on him, a delicious torment, a glorious tease.

The condom was on and she pushed him onto his back, sliding one of those long tall legs over him. She reared up, holding him still, upright, notching the head of his penis to that damp heat. He held his breath, and she paused. Her smile wicked, she shifted, the head of his penis bumped her clitoris and slid along her. She did it again. The tease. The beautiful sexy tease. Blood pounded through his body, his penis straining against her hand.

“You want to play games?” he asked.

“I just want to play,” she said, her smile both young and seductive at the same time. They could play, he thought, all damn night. But right now, he could barely see straight.

“Jules,” he whispered, so close to the edge it was killing him.

She paused and he tried to smile, but this was Juliette and he’d wanted her his whole life. And he knew she could see it on his face, how much he was feeling, and he couldn’t be bothered to hide it.

“Please.”

She blinked, her smile fading, her breasts rising faster with her breath.

Gorgeous,
he thought, transfixed by the fire of her eyes.

Juliette sat down hard, his penis spearing into the tight heat and he cried out, his hands curling into the quilt.

He arched, lifting his hips, and she gasped, tossing her hair back.

“It’s so
good,
” she breathed, finding a rhythm that made him see stars. “Always so good.”

He’d wanted her so long, missed her so much, that he knew there was no way he could take this pleasure and make it last. He sat up, crushing her body to his, his lips against her breasts. He sucked her nipples, urging her harder, faster, wanting her to be as wild as him. Her fingers dug into his scalp, holding him to her.

“Yes,” she breathed, and rocked hard against him, pushing him higher. He slid a hand around her back and then up over her shoulder, baring her down against him while he thrust up and forward until he was so deep inside of her there was no way he could ever leave.

Her nails bit into his back and her hips pistoned back and forth, short and sharp, and that need to release slammed into him. He clenched his jaw and stole one hand between them, his thumb finding the ridge of her clitoris and he held it there, letting her ride it out on him. Use him.

She bucked against him, kissing his neck, licking his ear, her hot breath a brand against his skin.

She lost her grace and became mindless, nearly awkward, as he felt her orgasm building. Her skin turned red as every muscle went fiercely taut.

Finally. Finally.

He bent his head to her breast and cried out, arching and shaking and shuddering against her.

He rolled to his side, taking her with him, not willing to let an inch of air come between them. He faced the ceiling, his throat thick and full of impossible emotion. It was too soon, he tried to tell himself.

Don’t be an idiot. Don’t ruin this moment.

But the words wouldn’t stay buried. Like untrained dogs, they ran out of control.

“I love you,” he said, and she jerked in surprise.

“What?” she breathed, lifting herself up to her elbow, her gorgeous hair curling over his chest.

“I love you.” His smile was sweet. Tender. “I’ve always loved you and I always will.” She only stared at him, and that wasn’t entirely what he wanted, but he was down this road.

“I think I’ve only shown you the worst of myself,” he said. “And I really want a chance to show you the best. Because you make me feel like a better man, like there are things I have to offer. To you.”

“You already—”

He shook his head. “I’m not talking about sex.”

“Neither am I.”

“I understand if you haven’t forgiven me, or even if you can’t. Because I hurt you—I hurt you more than anyone should be hurt.”

“I forgive you,” she said.

He shook his head, unable to believe her. “You can’t. Not yet.”

“Do not tell me how I should feel, Tyler. That’s what got us into this mess last time.” She brushed the hair back from his forehead, her fingers framing his face.

“I’ve missed you,” she said. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping for years and now I’m awake, and it feels so good. I don’t want to go back.” Her eyes were liquid and huge in the moonlight. “I don’t want to go back to missing you.”

“I’m right here,” he said, pulling her closer. He was getting hard again and he shifted, sliding into her, making her gasp. “And I’m not going anywhere.”