Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(66)

“Of course it was.” Of course she would be one of those that wanted to talk afterward and examine everything. This was insanity and he was a fool.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, evidently picking up something in his tone and words. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re you, Faith Walters. What we did was . . .” His voice faded and he dragged his hand through his hair with a pained sigh. “Tell me this. Why do you let me touch you? And kiss you? Why did you just let me have sex with you like that?” He gestured to the table. It hadn’t been kinky necessarily, but it had been fast and hard and short on foreplay.

“What?” she demanded. “Having regrets now because I’m a good girl?” She air quoted that last bit, her face flushed with emotion. “Afraid I’m going to want to pick out china patterns now? Grow up, North. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Maybe you should do the growing up. I mean, what the hell are you doing here with me, Faith?”



It was an excellent question.

Searching his face, Faith was glad to finally have this out between them. It was time to talk about what they were doing with each other. Because she was beyond the point of pretending any of this was nothing. She’d just had the most amazing sex of her life with him—again—and now he was being a jackass.

He motioned wildly between them. “Why have you been letting this go on between us?”

“I don’t know, but I’m starting to wonder.” She propped a hand on her hip. “And this what, North? What is it that we’re doing?” She stared hard at him, waiting for him to say that it was more than sex. Because, God help her, it felt like more to her.

He laughed once, a harsh bark. “You need a definition?”

“I do!”

“It’s called f*cking but I have no idea why you’ve been doing it with me.” His brown eyes glittered to black. “Do you have some stupid felon fetish? Is that what this is?”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you trying to be an * on purpose?”

He kept right on talking. Like he hadn’t heard her. Or he had and didn’t care what she thought about him. “Your brother is right. You shouldn’t be living next door to me. You should not—”

Her hand shot out, shoving him in the chest. She just reacted. It had always been like that between them though—from the very start. All impulse. All reaction.

She never minced words with him. Even after she knew about his history, she was never afraid. Never hesitant. Never tiptoed. Never behaved as though she should.

“Stop it! Don’t say that. I get enough of it from my father and brothers.”

“Maybe you should listen to them then. Leave me. Stay away from me.”

She glanced around wildly. Spotting a marker on the counter, she stalked over and snatched it up.

“What are you doing . . .” His voice faded as she yanked off the marker’s cap. Bending, she drew a great long line in front of her along the tile floor.

Standing back, she stared him directly in the eyes. “There.”

He glanced from the line to her. “What the hell is that?”

“That’s the line, North Callaghan. Remember?” She felt her nostrils flare as she exhaled a breath. “And I’m stepping over it.” She made a great show of lifting her foot and crossing the line. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

He opened his mouth, for once speechless. Usually she was the stammerer, but here, right now, he was at a loss.

“What are you so afraid of?” she demanded, still searching his face. “Is this really an ‘I’m not good enough for you’ moment?”

“It’s the truth.” He stared grimly.

“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head fiercely. “You’re a coward, North Callaghan. Don’t ever think you are doing this for me.”

“Oh, I’m a coward. You’re right about that.” He shook his head with self-disgust. “You don’t get it. Every morning I wake up with this sick, twisting sensation in my gut.” He clutched his stomach, clenching deep against his ridiculous abs, the tips of his fingers whitening from the strength of his grip.

He continued, “Most people wake up relaxed and groggy, their minds still lost to sleep or dreaming about their coffee or what they want to eat for breakfast. That in-between state, you know? Not quite awake and not asleep, when everything in the world is perfect and clean and fresh?”

She nodded. It sounded like many of her weekend mornings when she slept late.

“I never get that. I haven’t had that since I was a kid in high school. The past never leaves me. Every morning I wake up and I feel sick all over again once I remember it all. I take that first big breath and it feels like f*cking razors going down. Every day I feel that way. Every day I relive it. I’m broken. I ruin everything I touch. I have to leave you alone before I destroy you, too.”

“North—”

He continued coldly, his words a steady rain of bullets. “If you knew anything about me, you’d be disgusted.”

“Why?” she pressed. “Tell me. Talk to me.”

“In prison, I watched—” He stopped and swallowed. “I stood by as men were . . .” His voice strangled and he stopped again. He looked away from her a long moment before looking back at her. When he did her heart stuttered at the deadness of his stare. “You can’t help anyone in prison. Not unless you want a world of shit to rain down on you, too.”