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He snorted at the thought of that one as he pulled the Harley into the underground garage of the converted warehouse he and Chase had bought just after accepting Ian Sinclair’s offer five years before.
Two stories, cavernous and open; he and his brother had worked in their spare time for years, turning it into a livable space. The open rooms, tall windows, and spaciousness appealed to his need for freedom. After the ambush in Afghanistan, Cam had needed space, room to roam and to heal, after the military had returned him to the states.
Even worse than the need for space at that time had been the need for touch. It was then that he learned how finicky women could be. He and Chase had always appealed to women; it had been a shock to look in the mirror and realize the damage that had been done to his body, but even more surprising had been others’ reactions to it. Everything from fascination to complete disgust. And he’d found, just because a woman wanted to live on the wild side for a little bit, it didn’t mean that she had to appreciate the body that pulled her into the dark excesses that inhabited that side of her sexuality.
Yet, Jaci had touched him gently, with sorrow. And as she had, the need to take her without Chase had risen inside him.
His body tightened at the memory of that, as he moved quickly up the stairs to the first level of the “house. ” There, he strode first to the fridge and the cold beer waiting inside, twisted off the cap, flipped it into the garbage, then tilted the beer to his lips.
A long, cold drink later, he leaned against the counter and stared around the open room. There was an enclosed bathroom, shower, and Jacuzzi garden tub on the other side of the huge room. One side of the wall was thick, shadowed glass.
There was the kitchen and work island where he stood, just inside the doorway, then the room spread out into a living area, with sectional couches, thickly cushioned chairs, and a wide-screen television. There was a pool table and several old pinball machines behind that. Then, enclosed by filmy screens, was Cam’s bedroom.
The king-size bed and matching unfinished furniture filled that corner of the room.
Upstairs was the weight room, home office, and Chase’s bedroom and bath, as well as a kitchenette. As Chase had explained, sometimes a man just wanted a sandwich without trudging down the stairs.
And sometimes he needed his women alone. Sometimes he craved taking Jaci alone.
Chase didn’t suffer from the darkness as often as Cam did. Sometimes Cam wondered if his twin couldn’t live happily without ever sharing another woman.
Hell, Cam knew he could live without it. He did. Often. But sometimes, the memories crowded inside him, tore at him, and the need became a wrenching, brutal hunger that only increased the longer he ignored it.
Chase understood that hunger. He may not understand how Cam had come by it, but he knew the hunger.
He rubbed at the scars on his chest. The slashing scars weren’t just from the bullets or the knife used during the attack. There were scars he had gained from the three days he’d spent as a prisoner of the small band of terrorists that had captured him and his team.
That agony was a joke, compared to other memories, though. Physical pain was a hell of a lot easier to forget than the broken memories of the three years of living hell after his parents had died and his aunt had been left to care for them.
His fingers tightened around the bottle as he restrained the urge to hurl it across the room. Hell, he’d just have to clean it up. And he’d long since grown tired of cleaning up the messes his rage had induced.
He relaxed his fingers slowly, inhaled deeply, and forced himself to remember the fresh, clean smell of Jaci’s body, rather than the smell of fucking rose perfume, stale sex, and liquor.
He finished off the beer, breathed in roughly, then strode to the cordless phone at the center island. Jerking the phone from the base, he made a quick call to the exclusive boutique several streets from the hotel.
Speaking to the owner, he gave her his request—Jaci’s size and coloring—and authorized the credit card transaction. Mrs. Lisette Miles, the owner of the boutique, was ecstatic with the sale, and more than happy to make certain the purchase was delivered to Ms. Wright at her hotel.
With that accomplished, he allowed a small, tight smile to touch his lips and moved quickly to the shower. Tonight he would try to seduce her into trusting him. Gaining her trust couldn’t be that damned hard. Hell, she knew him, knew he would kill for her, knew he would do whatever it took to protect her. God help anyone who tried to hurt her, because he’d make certain they paid for it.
He’d stayed out of her life for seven years because he?
??d known she wasn’t ready for him. Known he wasn’t ready for her. She would come to him when she was ready. That was what he’d told himself over the years. He’d made certain her parents knew where he was, made certain he knew where she was working at any given time, and that she could find him if she needed him.
He wasn’t a stalker. He wasn’t obsessed. He just knew who his heart belonged to, just as he’d realized he may never have what he needed from her. The hardest part was the fear that he couldn’t be what she needed. A part of him realized that, accepted it. He might never be the man she needed, but he couldn’t walk away from her now.
He could have lived without her; he was living without her—until she arrived here, in his territory. She had come to him.
He shed his clothes and stepped beneath the shower, his teeth clenching as he fought back the dominance that raged inside him.
He had been living fine without her, but he was going to live better with her, and starting tonight she would learn that.
She was going to fight him, he could feel it, and it was more exhilarating than he could describe. She would challenge him, she would meet him head-on and make him work for what he wanted.
When was the last time he’d had to work for a damned thing, other than to get the information he dug up during the investigations he and Chase dove into? Sometimes that was work; but women had never been work. If one wasn’t interested, then he could find another that was. No big deal, because none of them was Jaci.
Now, it was Jaci.
He washed his hair quickly before soaping his body, grimacing as he soaped and rinsed the thick length of his cock and thought of Jaci. A hard-on always made him think of Jaci.
