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It would have been Nik's preference to take her straight to the hospital, but that wasn't Mikayla's preference. She wanted to go home. And he wanted her home. He needed to hold on to her, just for a little while, to convince himself she was truly all right. Kneeling in front of the prissy little chair she kept in her girly bathroom, he cleaned the scratch gently, checked it to ensure it wasn't deep enough to require that hospital visit.
The scratch was deep, but once he'd cleaned it, he was certain no stitches were needed.
"I'm sorry, baby," he said tenderly, as tender as his roughened, nearly ruined voice could be.
His stomach was tight with fear, with rage at the memory of the horror of watching that car speeding toward her, the knowledge that if he didn't move fast enough, then he could lose her.
He could have lost her, just as he had lost Nicolette. Just as he had lost his life so long ago, the future he'd envisioned, he'd almost lost Mikayla as well. Someone was desperate to see her dead. The strikes against her were becoming closer with each successive attempt, but still she stared back at him now with such trust. Trust and love. He could see the love in her eyes, and it tightened his chest, tore at the heart he'd never believed could be touched again, and sent hunger pounding through him. And he still couldn't understand what made a woman so innocent, so tender, give her heart to a man who had warned her he could have no future with her.
"Why?" He couldn't hold the question back. He had to know. "Why aren't you asking me for anything, Mikayla? Commitment? Some kind of relationship? Are you waiting to hit me with it later?"
Hurt filled her gaze at the question. "You're my lover, Nik, not my possession. You said you had no promises to give me. You never lied to me. You were honest from the beginning. Would it be fair of me to ask for more now? Or later?" She was breaking his heart. Nik wondered painfully if she had any idea what she was doing to him. She was tearing at the very foundations of the man he believed he was. The cold, hard, unfeeling man he wanted to be, had needed to be for the past ten years. He had no clue how he was going to manage to salvage his soul when it was time to walk away from her. God knew he couldn't stay. If he stayed, if he lost her later it would kill him.
And he knew Mikayla. She would want children. She would hunger for children. And Nik knew he could never, ever allow himself to take that risk again.
"Nik," she whispered, her voice aching with gentleness, with emotion. "I have you now, for this moment in time. However much you're willing to give me. I don't have the 171
right to ask for more when you warned me up front that you had no more to give me." Nik shook his head. She destroyed his defenses without even trying. She was locked inside him and he was damned if he knew how to get her out or how to protect himself against it.
"You deserve better, baby," he told her as he fought the emotions tearing through him. "The happily ever after, the white wedding you dream about. All of it, Mikayla. Why waste your innocence on a man who can give you nothing but his body?" She gazed back at him with such somber love that she broke his heart.
"I haven't wasted my innocence, Nik." Tears filled her gaze, but she kept them carefully in check. "I gave it to you. And I know the memory of it will always be safe with you."
How the hell was he supposed to defend himself against her? There was a purity about her that he couldn't fight. An inner innocence that he never wanted to see her lose. A part he wondered if he wouldn't indeed carry inside himself now. He'd never known anyone, anything, like Mikayla.
Lifting his hand, he cupped his fingers around her neck and pulled her to him. He needed the feel of her lips against his, her kiss warming his soul. He ached for her in ways he had no idea how to combat anymore. The hunger for the warmth of her tore at his control and filled him with such a demand for her touch that restraining himself was impossible.
She eased the nightmares inside him, as well as the ice he'd allowed to build in his soul since the death of his family. She filled him, she made him believe in fairy tales, and God alone knew how dangerous that made her to him.
His hands smoothed down her arms, feeling the softness of her silky flesh, the warmth of her against him. He needed her. One more memory to hold inside him, to store against the lonely nights to come.
Trailing his fingers up her arms once again, he stopped at the silky straps of her dress and eased them slowly down her arms.
He had to restrain his hands from shaking. Leaning back, he stared at the smooth, unblemished mounds of her swollen breasts as the material eased over them. Candy pink nipples were tight and hard, tempting him to taste them, to feel them against his tongue. Lowering his head, Nik let his lips trail down the side of her neck, then the sweet curve of her breast. The taste of her filled his senses. It left him almost shaking as hunger and lust raced through his system.
How the hell was he supposed to ever survive walking away from her? The memory of her, the touch and taste of her, would forever haunt his memories. Opening his eyes, he stared up at her as his lips found a sweet, hot nipple. He watched her face, watched it transform with pleasure as he let his tongue lick over the hard tip.
Amethyst eyes blazed with heated arousal. They were darkening, turning almost purple as she watched him. Her abandonment to the pleasure, to his touch and his hunger, never ceased to amaze him. Never ceased to humble him.
As his tongue caressed the delicate nipples, first one, then the other, his hands gripped the material of her dress and drew it to her hips.
She lifted for him, as though she felt the unspoken need to remove the dress. Removing the dress, his hands pressed between her thighs, spreading them, letting his 172
fingertips caress her flesh as he drew ever closer to the heated folds of her pussy beneath the black silk panties.
A little moan echoed around him as he gripped the band of her panties and pulled them free of her body as well.
Drawing back, he stared at the sweet perfection between her thighs. Soft wheat blond curls glistened with the juices from her pussy, darkening the curls.
"Look how pretty you are." His fingers brushed against the wet folds, his fingertips grazing over the honey that spilled from her. "Sweet and hot. Intoxicating." Glancing up at her, he watched as her teeth caught her lower lip, her lashes lowering over her eyes as slumberous sensuality took hold of her. His lips moved to the light rise and fall of her stomach. He licked at the sweet flesh as he moved lower, so desperate to taste her he was about to begin shaking with it. Soft, curl-shrouded folds drew him, tempted him. The light glaze of her feminine honey was an addiction he refused to deny himself. The tight, swollen knot of h
er clit greeted his lips and tongue as he moved lower.
The sweetness of her exploded against his tongue as a groan tore from his lips. Heaven help him, he had no idea if he could hold on long enough to give her the pleasure he was aching to give her.
Parting the swollen folds of her pussy, he licked through the juice-soaked slit as she whimpered in pleasure. Her fingers threaded through his hair, holding him to her as he stroked his tongue along the intimate flesh, moving closer to the snug, juice-filled entrance he ached for.
Gripping her ankles in his hands, he lifted her delicate feet as she rested against the back of the chair. He placed her feet in the seat, opening her further, watching as the folds of her pussy parted, revealing the sweet, pink, glistening flesh. He needed her. He was dying for her.
