Say It's Forever (Redemption Hills #2)(51)

I gulped, then I was nearly passing out when he ticked through the buttons on his shirt and peeled that off, too.

The man was nothing but wide, wide shoulders. Muscle everywhere, bulky on his arms and chest, his abdomen packed, tapering down and narrow at the waist.

Most all of his skin was covered in ink that seemed to scream the same as the walls, though it remained indistinct in the minimal light cast down from the rafters.

But I could make out enough to get the intonation.

The pure intimidation.

Menace and peril and life.

The mountain of a man stood there for a moment, then he took a step forward.

Energy rushed across the floor.

He approached like a phantom. Like a painting that had come to life.

It covered me whole and caressed me in shadows.

I was right. This man was definitely, definitely dangerous.

There was no question about it then.

And still, I remained there, held in his gaze, feeling the safest I’d ever felt.

I thought he was coming for me, only he slipped by on his bare feet.

Desire rippled through on his wake.

God, that was sexy, too.

Jud Lawson was an anomaly.

Conflict and peace.

Harmony and dissention.

A blinding light in the longest night.

Stealer of heart and sanity and good sense.

Because remaining there on the ground like an offering?

Posing for him?

There was no question I’d lost my mind.

His aura rippled through the room as he moved over to the wall that I faced. He pulled an easel closer, and the canvas he set on it looked like it’d been painted over a thousand times. He knelt to open a few jars of paint.

He picked up a brush and studied me.

I trembled beneath his watch.

“Beauty,” he rumbled. “Second I saw you out in the rain. Thought I had to be imagining things. Hallucinating.”

“I was terrified,” I admitted, our voices dancing through the condensed air.

Louder than they should be.

The thrumming of our hearts was palpable.

Frantic beats that echoed against the other.

A smirk ticked at the corner of his sexy mouth, then it slipped when he glanced at me then to the canvas. He began to paint. Quick, sweeping strokes, as if the images fell from him without thought. “I felt your fear, Salem. I felt your desperation. Wonder if I felt it then, that we were bound to be more than strangers. Wonder if I knew you were supposed to be on the back of my bike that night. Wonder if I knew you were going to become something that mattered in my life.”

I struggled to remain still, to swallow, to breathe. But the walls spun and gathered. Jud didn’t move, but it felt as if the walls had enclosed and pushed us closer.

He kept sweeping his brush over the canvas in long, frenzied strokes.

“I’m so tired of being afraid.” The confession slipped free. “I’m so tired of running.”

Those walls shook around me. A warning they might crumble and fall.

I had to remember. Remember to be careful.

Trust no one.

But it was getting harder and harder to do.

Beneath his beard, his jaw clenched. “I want to erase that for you, Salem. Gather up every scar you have and paint it something new.”

“Some of the scars cannot be healed, Jud.”

It was an admission from my soul. Where the sorrow railed and reigned.

He blinked, caught in his own storm. “And I want to hold that, too. Don’t deserve it, but I want it.”

“How do you not deserve it?”

And I guessed that’s why I’d followed him here after I’d been so angry with him. So disappointed. The truth I’d seen in the well of his eyes—it was grief that had sent him running.

A hard scoff climbed his thick throat. Disgust rolled out with the sound. “Don’t you see it yet?”

“I see a man who’s in pain and doesn’t let anyone around him know.”

“Only you.”

“Me.” I couldn’t tell if I was claiming it or if it was a question.

Desire lapped.

I could taste it.

Sweet in the air.

I inhaled it into my lungs, felt it rush my veins and fill my belly.

From where I was perched on my knees, my hips involuntarily bucked, begging for him.

I shouldn’t.

But there was a brand-new need burning inside me.

It was only going to hurt.

But my hand was pressing lower on my abdomen, thoughts hitting me so fast, the memory of that kiss, those hands, how good it would feel to just give in.

A growl reverberated the air.

Those black eyes flashed.

Pitch.

Darkened with lust.

His tongue swept across his lips.

“Salem.” It was a warning.

“You asked me when I felt the most beautiful. You wanted me to show you how I feel when you look at me. This, Jud. I feel this. I feel desired. I feel wanted. I feel real.”

No longer mist.

My trembling fingertips barely slipped under the band of my underwear, and the plea rasped from my mouth. “I want you to want me. The way I want you.”

There I went, begging for the pain.

But I couldn’t stop.

Not when he was watching me that way.

“Enchantress. What do you think you’re doin’ to me?”