Searching for Beautiful (Searching For 3)

Gen looked down at her sexy dress, and fuck-me heels. The generous curves that exploded out of the fabric. She touched her curls, which were already springing crazily around her head. Funny, she hadn't realized she was crying until her fingers came away wet. There went the eye makeup. She imagined streaks of mascara, giving her a raccoonlike appearance.

She battled the raging storm, but it was too much. The emotions swept over her like a tsunami, pulling her under, pieces of debris poking and shredding flesh, and then the sobs broke from her chest and she let herself go.

Gen ducked her head and cried. She cried for the loss of David. For the constant doubts that had plagued her ever since she'd given her heart to another for care, and limped away halfway broken. For her confusion, her weakness, her doubts.

For the awful, real feelings she had for her best friend.

She didn't know how much time passed, but slowly the tears stopped and the tiny piece of calm grew. Gulping in deep breaths, she allowed the last of her grief and anger and sadness to spill out of her body.

Gen never heard him.

Like the knight he was, Wolfe appeared. He sat down next to her on the bed and wrapped her in his strong, familiar arms. His blistering body heat melted Gen's ice and stiffness, and she relaxed into him, still sniffling, burying her face into soft, fragrant cotton. His lips pressed the top of her head, and his voice murmured sweet, soothing words until her gulping sobs finally calmed. For a little while, she surrendered, giving it all over to him, and in doing so, was able to let it go completely.

The lightness returned. Peace. He hugged her against his rock-hard chest, his arms bands of steel refusing to soften. She'd never felt so protected and cherished, and she fell quiet, completely drained.

"Sweetheart, are you hurt? Please tell me."

She shook her head against him, refusing to look up.

"Did he do something to you? Touch you? Hurt you?"

She shook her head hard again.

"I'm trying not to lose it and go completely apeshit, sweetheart." His body began to shake, and Gen finally realized he was barely holding on to his control. "Just tell me who did this and I'll take care of it. Give me a name."

She sniffed. "No one. I'm not hurt. Why are you here? You promised."

He let out a strangled laugh. "I tried. I got halfway home, then turned back around. Figured I'd park down the street and sleep in the car. I needed to be sure you were okay."

Her heart tore. He was so good to her, so sweet and kind, and all she wanted was for him to crave her in a crazy, primal way, to strip her, fuck her, bite her, claim her.

Gen slowly pushed him away and looked up. She probably looked scary. Ugly. Broken. Hot anger chopped through her in ragged waves. Screw this. Screw him. Screw them all.

She shut down and spoke coolly. "Thank you yet again for trying to save me, but I'm okay. No need for your armor tonight. Sorry for the drama."

His gaze narrowed. His eyes shot streams of sapphire fire. "Don't play games with me, Gen. What happened tonight on your date? Why did I come home to find you crying your heart out?"

If she stayed close to him, she'd only humiliate herself. Beg him to want her, and then there'd be no going back. She swiped at her eyes and got up from the bed, needing the distance. "Just let it go. I'm a girl, dammit. Sometimes I cry, and I like to do it in private without an audience." She turned from him so he couldn't see her face. "I don't want you here tonight."

"Tough shit."

She spun back around and gasped. The rage was good and clean and sweet, pushing away her silly tears and the pity party she despised. "You have no right to interfere," she snarled. "I gave you space when you wanted to go fuck your date! I didn't ask you a million questions or invade your privacy."

"You didn't find me crying either. I know you, Gen. I've watched you cry over hurt animals, abused children, and those awful chick flicks I hate. This was different. This was a cry from your soul, and I'm gonna find the motherfucker who did it and kill him."

Her eyes widened at his casual statement. Possession and determination carved out the lines of his face. He still sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at her, refusing to cower or give in to her demands. What a good . . . friend.

She took a step forward and practically spat in disgust. "I told you, nothing happened. It wasn't David or Charles or anyone, and I'm not talking about this anymore. Get out."

"No."

"Get out!"

"No. Did he try to make a move on you? Did you freak? I knew this wasn't a good idea. You're not ready for sex without commitment, and if he couldn't handle it I'll teach him a lesson for the next time."

She snapped. Somewhere the thread had gotten plucked so thin there was nothing left holding her to sanity. A sheen of pure red hazed her vision as she teetered on heels too tall and cool for her and gave him the humiliating truth.

"I was the one who wanted him!" she screamed. "You want to hear the whole story? He was perfect. Charming. Sexy. I felt more powerful and energized than I have in a while, so I invited him to my house to sleep with me. And you know what he said? Wanna guess?"

Wolfe remained silent, his gaze trapping her and refusing to let go.

"He said no thanks! He said he married the first time and ended up divorced because he didn't feel a wild passion for his wife. Said she was nice, and a good conversationalist, and funny. Everything I was. But not sexy. Not enough to tempt a man to lose his mind and heart to her. So there's that. I failed again. I'm good as a companion, and a colleague, and a friend, and that will have to be good enough." She let out a wild laugh and pushed her

curls back, not caring anymore that she was a mess. "So David was right, and nothing's going to change it. Not a stupid tattoo, or a matchmaking service, or a wax."

He made a move to get up, but she lost it, knowing once she spotted the pity in his eyes she might never be the same. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me! I need you to leave. I'm begging you to go out the door and give me time. Tomorrow I'll put myself back together and everything will be fine." Her voice broke but she pushed on. "I just need some time alone. To process. Please, Wolfe, please just go."

She had nothing left, so she turned and walked toward the window. He didn't move from the edge of the bed. Didn't breathe. She pressed her forehead to the cool pane of glass and prayed to finish this awful night in isolation. Tomorrow she'd get her shit together and it would be okay. But tonight all bets were off, and she felt dangerously out of control . . . on the pinnacle of something so fierce she didn't know how to handle it.

The mattress creaked. Shoes hit the floor. She held her breath and waited for the blessed silence, but instead of heading out, he stopped right behind her. His body heat roped her in and pulled tight, like a helpless calf at the rodeo. She held the windowsill in a deathlike grip, sensing him closing the distance inch by precious inch, until his chest pressed against her back.

"Look at me."

The rough growl was full of danger, command, heat. She was helpless to disobey, leaving the safety of the window to turn and face him full-on. He reached out and tipped her chin up.

Blistering, raw lust shot from his eyes. As if they were glowing from under the sea in the Caribbean, she tumbled into the depths of a gaze that promised everything with a Warning: Danger label attached. His grip tightened, refusing to allow her to retreat, and he crowded her space by taking another step between her thighs. The sill dug into her lower back. His scent drowned out everything but the need to touch him, feast, taste--the delicious mix of lemon and soap and cotton surrounding her.

"I need you to listen closely, because I'm only going to say it once. Understood?"

Her lips parted. This was no friend. This was a deadly man with an agenda. Transfixed, she nodded, unable to form words, mere prey beneath the command of a dangerous predator.