Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans Book 4) - Julie Ann Walker Page 0,70

socket because her hair was standing out in a million directions in chunky platinum tufts.

And she’s never looked lovelier.

“When I got outta the hospital,” he told her, his hands around her slim waist, the ring finger on his left hand touching her warm flesh where her T-shirt rode above the hem of her shorts, “she moved us into a shelter for victims of domestic violence.”

“Brave woman,” Maddy said.

Bran cocked his head. “Huh,” he mused. “Yeah, I guess… I guess she was. In a way. But she was sick too. They both were. His sickness was his unrelieved jealousy and his ability to hurt the only person who meant anything in his life. And hers was her unfaltering love for him, her inability to see that all the bad things in him outweighed the good.”

“But she loved you more.” One lone tear clung to Maddy’s lower lashes. It caught a shaft of starlight and shimmered like a tiny, liquid diamond. Cupping her face, he used his thumb to tenderly brush it away.

“You think?” he asked.

“I know.” Her little chin jutted out. “Because she stayed for all those years. But the minute he hurt you, she got out.”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. And that ultimately proved to be her undoing. Maybe if I had—

But no. If he’d learned anything, it was that maybe if thoughts were a waste of energy. He couldn’t change what had happened then any more than he could change who he was now. Some things just were, no matter how hard he might wish they weren’t.

“Is she…” Maddy bit her top lip and his eyes focused on the gesture so quickly and so directly that he felt like a dog on point. The libido that hadn’t woken upon her touch opened its eyes and stretched. He willed it back to sleep, not wanting to lose the sweet, innocent intimacy of their embrace.

“Is she still alive?” Maddy finally finished, releasing her lip. But it was too late. The damage was done. All his nerve endings were tingling. His muscles clenched with interest at her nearness. Her femaleness.

He could have curbed his burgeoning desire, he supposed, by giving her the whole sordid answer to her question. But he wasn’t ready to go that far. Wasn’t ready to share with her just how bad it had really been. So he gave her the Cliff’s Notes version and ignored the voice in his head that accused him of being a coward.

“No,” he told her.

“Oh, Bran.” Maddy reached up and cupped his face with both hands. Her fingers were cool and gentle. He was insanely aware of just how vulnerable her mouth looked. How ripe and succulent and ready to be ravaged. “I’m so sorry.”

He should have felt the same sorrow. But his hurts were old, callused over, and though they still plagued him, the pain had dulled. Besides, want of her was on him now. Need of her. And all he could think about was claiming her lips in a kiss that would blow everything he’d just asked her for, their truce, their friendship, clean out of the water.

“Thanks,” he murmured, trying to decide if there was a way to extricate himself without making it obvious that he’d once again fallen victim to the passion between them.

“And him?” she asked tentatively, catching her top lip between her teeth again. His dick flexed hungrily at the sight.

“Dead too,” he said, dismayed that even thoughts of his father couldn’t dampen his burgeoning lust.

“Oh, Bran!” she said—it seemed to be a running theme tonight—and threw her arms around his neck. That seemed to be a running theme too.

Unlike the last time, it wasn’t the boy in him who exalted in her embrace. Oh, no. It was the man. The man who couldn’t deny the feel of her small, soft breasts smashed against his chest. The man who was eagle-eye focused on the warmth of her soft thighs pressed next to his.

And then it hit him. Her thighs. His thigh. It was the perfect excuse!

He hissed in a breath.

“What is it?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“My leg,” he said, shuddering in relief when she immediately stepped back. “Adrenaline is an awesome painkiller. But mine has worn off.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at the dressing peeking from beneath the bloodstained leg of his cargo shorts. It was looking a little worse for wear, the Ace bandage damp and smeared with grime. And he’d probably go straight to hell for lying to her. It didn’t hurt any more now than it