Page 26 of Ravaged With You

Over the next months, the topic turned to the dream of starting a distillery, and we three were together almost constantly as those plans evolved. Every day, I hoped something else would spark between Red and me, and every night I was disappointed.

I’d sit a little too close, then accidentally brush his hand. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it. If he noticed, he never commented. And he never kissed me again.

Soon enough, I let it drop, though I still kept the memory in my heart. Not long after that, Mel started to see me as more than a friend, and I leaned into that. I even went so far as to ask Red if he minded that Mel and I might start dating.

I told myself that I wasn’t asking because of the kiss. On the contrary, it was because we’d been a trifecta of friends, and if Mel and I hooked up, it might make it strange.

Except of course it was about the kiss. It was always about that kiss.

But all Red said was that we’d make a great couple and he wished us well.

That was the day my fantasy of having Red in my arms finally died.

Now, as I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if, on that day long ago, instead of wishing us well, Red had pulled me close and kissed me.

Chapter Eight

Red bolted awake with a startled yowl, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he leapt out of bed, desperate to escape the hell he’d awakened to: an erection, a woman in his bed, and the earthy smell of juniper and eucalyptus filling his senses.

No, no, goddammit, no!

“Red? Red, Christ, are you okay?”

The dark fog around him faded to reveal the reality that the woman in his bed wasn’t her. It was Jo, looking both concerned and terrified.

His cock tightened, and he was breathing hard, trying to rein it in. It would be so easy. Push her back against the mattress. Hold her wrists above her head with one hand as he fucked her hard, his other hand over her mouth to stifle her moans until he let her cry out.

He wanted that, damn him. Wanted to overpower. To take.

To take back.

He wanted to hear her call his name, to beg for more, to have her completely at his mercy.

He wanted it, dammit.

And there was no way in hell he was going down that rabbit hole with Jo.

“Red.”

A sharp swath of anger—at himself, at his demons—cut through him, and he bent over, his palms to his knees as he tried to breathe. To center himself. He was home. He’d escaped. The bitch was dead. A painful memory, but still just a memory.

“Red? You’re scaring me.”

“Just give me a damn second, okay?” He shouldn’t snap, especially not at Jo. It wasn’t her fault he was fucked up. Broken. A victim to his goddamn past.

He looked up to tell her as much, feeling like an ass when he saw the concern reflected in her eyes.

She was propped up on one arm, but now she sat upright, the sheet falling away as she did to reveal pert nipples under the thin tank top she wore. His cock grew harder, his vision swimming with violent need. She didn’t have a clue. Not a goddamn clue.

It would be so easy to take her. To use her. To push past this moment so he could center himself.

He took a step forward, then stopped cold, sickened by his own base needs.

“I’m sorry. Fuck it, I’m sorry.” The words came out as a growl, and he turned, barely registering Jo’s worried and confused expression as he stalked out of the room and into the guest bath.

He turned on the shower, then sat on the edge of the tub, stupidly wishing that things were different. That he was different.

He remembered that first day he’d met her when she’d tumbled off a curb, unstable on her crutches. He’d leapt to her rescue, then held her close as she regained her balance. Her hair had smelled of strawberries, and that combined with the sensation of her body pressed against him had made him giddy.