“I...no. They were gone before we got here, I think. I’ve already been inside,” I say. “The living room’s trashed. I didn’t check anything else because I think they’re gone, but not a hundred percent sure.”
“We’re about to find out, sweetheart,” he says darkly, then nudges Andrea toward me. “Stay here. Both of you. Keep 9-1-1 handy. And if I tell you to run, get in your car and drive. Don’t look back.”
I can’t stand watching him go in there by himself.
And I know if something happens, I won’t leave him.
Andrea and I huddle together, clutching each other’s hands, watching the door.
I strain, listening for any sound, any hint of a fight, but all I catch is a bit of furniture scraping and moving—then a flicker of motion in the upstairs windows. Blake’s tall, dark shape moves past the curtains. All seems well.
But I still don’t breathe easy until he’s back outside.
“No one home except one mad snake,” he says grimly. That tired stoop bows his broad shoulders, his eyes blue shadows. “It’s only the living room. Bastards didn’t touch anything else. Didn’t seem like they were looking at anything in particular, just wanted to piss out some rage. Maybe send a message.”
He stops, though, squinting down the front steps and toward the snow along the side of the porch.
Several heavy footsteps leave prints in the packed snow surrounding the house.
And I’m pretty sure they aren’t mine, his, or Andrea’s.
Blake slowly descends the steps and moves to the edge of the walk, then crouches down, peering at the closest tracks.
“And send a message he did,” he mutters tightly. “Shit. I recognize these prints. They’re standard safety issue for work crews...including hired construction contractors.”
Somehow, we’ve come full circle.
With Blake’s house a mess and the door refusing to totally shut, we can’t stay there.
So after a call to Sheriff Langley, we end up packing everyone up and heading back to my cabin at the Charming Inn.
Sure, the arsonist tried to set it on fire after I’d already left, but it’s somewhere warm and safe where we can all be together.
In a town this small, the arsonist could get to us anywhere.
We’re with each other.
That’s all that matters.
That’s what’s going to keep us safe.
Not the location of the four walls we have around us.
Still, it’s somber as we load our things into my car and Blake’s. No one talks—except Mr. Hissyfit, who’s entirely vocal about how unhappy he is with having his aquarium moved, and as riled as he is, Andrea can’t even soothe him without risking getting hurt.
So we settle in with a very angry snake and a very upset teenage girl.
And Andrea doesn’t even argue about being sent to bed early.
Leaving just me and Blake.
He settles on the sofa in the living room, while I turn the thermostat up to warm a cabin that’s been left idle and freezing for over a week. Not even the insulation on the windows stops the cold from creeping in. I’d piled Andrea with blankets before sending her to bed.
By morning we should all be nice and toasty, but these first few hours are going to be chilly.
Blake doesn’t even seem to feel it. He props his elbows on his knees and presses his mouth against his clasped knuckles, staring blankly at the coffee table.
I’ve never seen his face like this.
This terrible mask. Not quite anger.
It makes me think of grief, deep and painful.
And it makes me hurt for him so much.
Once I’ve got the warm air circulating, I settle down next to him and lean against his side, offering my support without intruding.
And he leans back against me, letting me in.
I curl my hand on his arm, resting my head to his shoulder. “It’s not looking good, is it?”
“I don’t want to believe it,” he says, deep and gritty and pained. “My own goddamn brother. But with all the evidence, who else could it be?”
I don’t have an answer.
I wish I did.
I can only press snug in his arms and hold him as close as I possibly can.
I can’t stand seeing him like this as we settle into bed.
Maybe that’s why I’m almost expecting it when he moves on me, hard and swift, his thick, hard weight suddenly on top of me. His fingers push through my hair.
“How?” he growls out his question.
“Come again?” I’m totally lost, even if there’s no mistaking what he wants. His hips move against mine, pushing his bulge between my legs.
“How the hell you stay so beautiful in the middle of all this ugliness, darlin’?” His eyes shine so bright, two blue gems set deep in his tortured face, almost like a wolf’s.
I answer him the only way I can. With a kiss so long and hot and intense it’s all twirling tongue.
If I made some mistakes today through this mess, it might be my best mistakes ever.
Because soon he’s throwing off the covers, tearing at my clothes, then shedding his own like a second skin. He winds my hair around his fingers, then guides my face to the huge, pulsing, angry hard-on throbbing between his legs.
“Take me away, baby. Make me forget,” he orders.
I only let myself blush in stunned silence for a split second before I obey.
I’ll never comprehend what makes men so hot when they’re tense and pissed off. But tonight, Blake freaking Silverton just might burn me down.
He lets out a sharp, muffled groan as my mouth sinks down on his length. He’s so big, so full, so wired I can barely fit him in my mouth. My fingers wrap around his base, pumping, going to town on his steaming skin.
I play him like an instrument, loving how he plays me back so effortlessly. He grabs my other hand, pushes it down, and gives me a feral look.
“Play with your clit. Only thing better than getting sucked off by that sweet mouth is hearing you, seeing you, while you do it.”
“But—” I ease off him for a second, staring into his eyes.
“Play, woman. You heard me.”
Holy hell.
I don’t even think I have any words.
So I do what he wants, trying to keep my focus tight on his magnificent cock. Heat flares against my hand, hot and wet and thick. It isn’t long at all before we’re losing control together.
Blake starts thrusting in my mouth, his hips moving in angry strokes, keeping my concentration with his fingers in my hair, guiding my head down. I find the sweet spot just under the head of his cock and push, murmuring a helpless moan.
My fingers move faster, circling, technically this close to bringing me off. Only, that’s not quite right.
Because it’s Blake who ignites my body, my blood, every time he pulls his lip with his teeth.
Every time he picks up his speed.
Every time he growls, cursing, trying to stay quiet for Andrea’s sake.
If my mouth wasn’t full of him, I’d totally be in trouble, too.
He never peels his eyes off me. They just stick to my body, so intimate and intense, stripping me barer than stark naked, watching my nipples swell and my pace quicken.
I try like the devil to bring him off first, but it’s too intense with his gaze, his taste, his soft grunts and echoing fucks like thunder in my ears.