Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(71)

Tonight is all about accepting that fate has brought a man like Cain to me. I think I may have stumbled upon a saint. I don’t deserve him. Cain is a good man, hardened by too many wrongs in his past. Not his own wrongs, though it’s clear he feels he needs to shoulder much of the blame.

He is as much a victim as his sister, from the sound of it.

As much a victim as I am, I sometimes believe.

Cain has put all of that behind him, though, and is doing something about it. I’m still in the thick of the wrong, and all I’m striving to do is run away and pretend that it never happened.

“I haven’t told you everything yet,” Cain offers softly, as if he’s reading my mind.

I pause, wondering what else there could be besides the enormous personal tragedy he’s just shared. In truth, I don’t think I want to know. “You’ve told me enough.”

And I’ve told you nothing. Half-truths, that’s all. It’s true that there’s a tiny tombstone next to my mother’s that reads Harrison Arnoni. I left out the fact that my mother died along with him, and that his father is a drug dealer who now manipulates my every choice, every decision.

And that memory of the blond lady in the red checkered apron? That’s real. Of course, I left out the part about the screaming match between her and my mother, who dragged me out by the arm, suitcase in hand, only moments later. I remember words like Christian and sinner coming from the blond lady’s mouth. I remember a greasy-haired guy waiting for us in the driveway in a blue El Camino that reeked of cigarettes. I remember waving goodbye to my grandmother for the last time. I remember the tears streaking down her face as she waved at me.

For someone that young, I remember an awful lot.

But I can’t share any of that with Cain now, because it would give away too much about my real self. Charlie Rourke is simply a bundle of lies with a few half-truths to appease my own guilty conscience.

And now I’m eager to silence my conscience entirely.

“Cain?” I take another step forward until I’m standing between his splayed legs.

“Yeah?” He’s sitting, relaxed, with one hand stretched out along the back of the bench and the other resting casually on his knee. The tension in his jaw tells me he’s anything but relaxed, though. I wonder if he has any clue what’s coming. He must. I’ve been rubbing up against him like an animal in heat for the past hour.

It’s now or never.

“Are you always such a gentleman?”

A smirk touches Cain’s lips. “No . . . I’m not. And you’re certainly not making it easy on me right now.”

Swallowing the conflicting thrill and nerves inside me, I ask, “And how would I go about making it impossible on you?”

Lustful eyes stare back at me and I catch something flash in them that I can’t describe. There’s a long pause, and then his hands wrap around the backs of my thighs. With a forceful pull, he directs first one knee up onto the bench, followed by the other. Before I know what’s happening, I’m straddling his lap with my hands loosely curled around his neck and my dress pooled around the top of my thighs. Cain’s hands have found their place around my hips, and he pulls them forward until they’re flush with his, until it’s impossible to miss his arousal against me.

Another wave of heat pools between my legs. I’ve been hot there since the second I woke up on his office couch, but the intensity has reached new levels. I wouldn’t be surprised if I soak right through his pants.

“Are you sure?” His eyes are locked on mine, his lips—only inches from mine—parted, his breathing ragged.

I let my eyes skate over the masculine lines of his face, and my fingertips graze the light stubble along his throat. I inhale that delicious clean, woodsy scent that I will always relate to him. I want to memorize every single moment of this, because no one has ever made me feel the way Cain is making me feel right now.

That what I want truly matters.

And in this moment, I want nothing more than Cain. Intentionally shifting my pelvis even closer to him, until his hardness digs into me, I let my lips trail against that strong jawline—something I have fantasized about doing every single night for weeks now.

I hear the hiss of air a second before his fingers loop around the thin straps of my panties and he tugs at them. His erection is straining against me. Just as quickly, though, he lets go, and his hands force their way up my back—beneath my fitted dress—to press my chest into his. I feel his heart pounding against mine as he catches my bottom lip with his tongue, beckoning me forward.

I accept the invitation, closing my mouth over his greedily, feeling his wet tongue connect with mine in a possessive dance. My hands find his face and urge him closer to me, relishing the light manly stubble beneath my fingertips. As much as I want all of Cain, I could just as easily do this until the sun rises; I love the way his mouth moves against mine, the way he tastes, the small groans he makes.

But I only have tonight, I remind myself.

Without his lips leaving mine, his hands emerge from beneath my dress to pull the zipper down. The material falls. With the skill of an expert, he has my bra undone in a second, exposing my breasts to the cool night air.

And to him.

His fingers waste no time finding their way to my bare flesh, splayed to stroke me, rubbing both hardened nipples with the pads of his thumbs simultaneously. Shivers run through my body. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve thought about doing this?” he whispers into my mouth.