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“Why?” she cried painfully. “Why did you do this to me? I didn’t hurt enough? Do you think I wanted another adrenaline junkie who doesn’t care for anything more than he cares for his fix?”
He stared at her in surprise. “Is that what you think being a SEAL was to your husband? A fix you couldn’t give him?”
“What else could it have been? Look at you.” She flung her hand toward him. “Admit it. You love the adrenaline. You love how it hypes you, makes you high. It’s better than sex.” She sneered. “Isn’t it, Noah?”
His eyes. Those eyes. They were rapacious, blazing, so hot they melted parts of her she didn’t want to admit existed. They weren’t navy blue, but shades lighter. Not Irish eyes, but neither were they entirely natural.
His gaze roamed her body and she swore heat licked over her flesh.
“There’s nothing as good as sex with you.” His voice was guttural now. “There’s nothing, no high, no drug, no amount of danger as good as burying my cock inside you. And I’d give the last ounce of blood in my body to come inside you, one more time. But I’m not Nathan Malone.”
She lost her breath. Sabella stumbled back a step, her chest tightening as the need for oxygen battled with the shock that seared her insides.
“You want him back until it rips your guts inside, don’t you, Sabella?” He pushed himself back from the counter, moved around it. “You want him until you live and breathe the memory of a man that’s never going to come back to you.”
She shook her head, agony searing her heart to hear him say that. To hear the words, when that fragile flame of hope had been moving inside her. A hope she refused to even name, because she ached so desperately for it.
“They wouldn’t let you see his body, so you prayed he was alive.” The cruelty of his words bore down on her, the very gentleness of his tone struck inside her like the vicious lash of a whip.
“Don’t.” She shook her head, feeling the tears that eased from her eyes, feeling the pain that dug into her soul and tore at the last dream of ever holding her husband again. “Please don’t.”
His hands touched her. He pushed her hair back from her face, his thumbs eased over the tears and more fell.
“Your husband is dead.” Pain echoed in his voice as well. “He’s gone, Sabella.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No.”
“He’s only alive in your dreams.” His lips touched hers. “But I’m here. Right here. Let me, Sabella. Let me have what Nathan Malone didn’t have. Let me have all of his wild witch.”
“No!” She screamed out at the rocking agony. She wanted to strike him. She wanted to tear at his hair, at his eyes, and all she could do was jerk away from him, jerk away and force her feet to the kitchen, and no further.
“You didn’t give him all of yourself,” he accused her, his voice grating, soft, as he followed her. His hands gripped her shoulders, fingers splaying, holding her firmly as she tensed in his grip. “You give it to me. Admit that much. You give me the woman you didn’t allow him to see.”
“I love him.”
“You loved him.” The fire in his eyes burned with pain, bleak sorrow, and lust. “Loved, Sabella. Because he’s gone.”
“Stop.” She shook her head.
“I’m not Nathan Malone!” He yelled the words at her, striking her with them as she hunched her shoulders against the blow and the firm shake he gave her.
She shook her head, sobbing, the cries tearing from her chest.
“Get that in your head, Sabella. I am not Nathan Malone. I am not the man you loved, but by God I am the man that’s going to fuck you. That’s going to hold you when you cry in the night, and the man that’s going to bind you to him so tight, so hard, that you’ll never think to hide even a partical of who and what you are from him.”
“Stop. Stop.” She sobbed. Her breath was heaving, tears dimming her vision, as the words tore through her with the effect of a jagged knife.
“I won’t stop.” Hard hands held her to him, refused to let her go. “Look at me, Sabella.”
His features were blurred, the need to lean against him, to find something to hold on to, weakened her knees.
“I’m not Nathan Malone. But I’m your lover, Sabella. And I need you. I need you like your husband had no idea how to need you. I need you until the fever burns inside me for your touch, your kiss.”
He clasped her head in his hands, lowered his lips and smoothed them over hers, sipped from hers. He tasted her tears and her pain, and something inside his soul tore loose.
Ah God, how he was hurting her. Hurting her until her sobs tore through him like dull spikes and ripped at his insides. But he knew. The second he heard her questioning Ian, he knew she had begun to suspect. Somehow, some way, his too perceptive little witch had sensed the ghost of her husband inside him.
She shuddered against him. The whore’s dust, those last minute amounts that infected his system, pumped through him, overshadowed everything but the feel of her. The feel of her soft lips, the taste of her pain in her tears.
