Searching for Beautiful (Searching For 3)

Her beautiful blue eyes probed his, asking for something he'd never given her before. An answer to the mysteries of his past. A glimmer of who he'd been and was. He couldn't deny her anything now, but he was surprised how easily he responded.

"It embodies everything I want to express," he said simply. He paused, trying to make sense and explain fighting through the horror to get to the other side. He'd never tell the whole truth. Couldn't, not even to her. But she deserved to hear more and understand why he was too broken to ever be involved in a healthy relationship. "The serpent is a symbol of light and dark. I was fighting for my sanity back then. I stumbled on an old library book someone had thrown in a Dumpster that detailed the history of snakes and various legends. Fascinating. Snakes shed their skin and become new. They're also full of deceit, marked by a forked tongue that mingles truth with lies. It represents fury such as poison and vengefulness when it strikes, never warning the victims beforehand." The past battled to breach the wall he'd carefully built, but most of his defenses held tight. He continued talking in an academic tone. "The serpent is also a symbol of guardianship. Even when threatened, it holds its ground and defends. When I found myself in the tattoo parlor, I didn't think twice. I wanted to remember every time I looked at my body."

She studied him in silence, both assessing and delving deeper than any woman before. Why did he suddenly crave to spill his guts? His belly clenched. No. Some secrets were meant to be buried in the ground forever.

As usual, she surprised him by both her acceptance of his speech and her question.

"What is it whispering to you?"

His hand rubbed the side of his neck where the forked tongue stopped, curling around his ear. The skin beneath his leather wristbands itched and burned. How did she know? Wolfe swallowed and kept his voice steady. "Live."

She never jerked back or reached for him. Her gaze flicked to his covered wrists as if she knew that was the key to his secrets but then she just nodded. That quiet understanding and acceptance of his one-word answer soothed him in a way nothing ever had. His body lit, and the hungry need to bury himself back in her sweetness shook him to the core. Without hesitation, she reached for him again, welcoming and opening her thighs.

He barely choked out the words. "No. You're too sore."

"Don't care." Her smile lit up her face with light and joy, transfixing him. "I feel alive when you're inside me."

Wolfe groaned, humbled by her generosity and ability to love so well. And because he was selfish, he took what she offered, fitting himself with a condom and pushing her slowly back into the mattress. Her wetness welcomed him as much as her arms wrapped around his neck, urging him on. With one slow slide he buried himself, shaking at the tightness and slick heat that gripped him mercilessly.

"Easy this time," he whispered. "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

Her hips bowed, and he began rocking himself in and out of her in tiny increments, easing himself into the ride. He pulled completely out to make sure the end of the barbell hit her clit, and she shuddered and groaned beneath him, surrendering.

Fierce possession streaked through him. There wasn't a part of her that didn't belong to him; every inch of her skin was marked by his tongue or teeth or hands, and his name broke on her lips like a prayer, a litany, a melody. He pushed her higher, climbing along, not wanting the moment to ever end. Memorizing every pant, drop of sweat, and cry, he angled his hips and hit her G-spot, diving so deep and slow they became one. Her fingers clenched and her body opened fully, allowing him to do anything. With a low growl, he bit her neck and surged forward one last time, feeling her break around him in spasms that shook him to the core.

His own orgasm threatened sanity, clutching every muscle with a pleasure that scorched, and as his seed spilled inside her, Wolfe knew it was already too late for him, and he'd never be the same man again.

Instead of crying, he buried his face in her hair and let go.

twenty-one

SHE HATED MORNINGS.

Genevieve rolled over and stared at the sun streaming through the windows. The scent of sex and man hit her hard, but the bed was empty. The impression of his head on the pillow and her sore body was the only evidence he'd left behind. She listened to the quiet. Probably snuck off at dawn when she was in a coma. Simpler that way. Time to recover, gain distance, and approach a rational conversation about a completely irrational, sex-driven night.

Crap.

Sadness hovered but she pushed it away. No. She'd promised herself not to mope over something he couldn't give. Last night had shown her the depths of the man she'd always loved as a friend. Not his fault she now loved him in all ways. He believed he wasn't enough for a full relationship, and she could take up the sacrifice and beat herself bloody by trying to convince him, but it wouldn't work. Not in the end. After all, she'd learned love was also a choice.

Wolfe didn't want to choose her. He was safer with his scars and his past buried, giving her a true friendship and everything he could possibly offer. But not his full heart. The quicker she understood the facts, accepted them, and tried to move on, the better.

But it wouldn't be easy.

She rolled out of bed, wincing at the use of muscles rarely worked, but a deep satisfaction and pride coursed through her. He'd shown her what it was like to be wanted on a bone-deep level, wanted so badly nothing else mattered. It was a priceless gift and she wouldn't forget it. She'd never accept anything less.

The shower felt like heaven, the hot spray loosening the tightness and washing away his scent. When she looked in the mirror, she gasped. Discolored marks on her neck. Bruises on her hips and thighs. Her nipples were sore, and every time she walked the spot between her legs ached. She'd been well used and loved. Damn, how cool.

Gen dressed in yoga pants and a white T-shirt, and twisted her hair up to dry naturally. Thank goodness it was Sunday. She'd recover, think, and lie low. She'd been hoping to meet with Izzy today, but didn't feel up to it now. Izzy had seemed to soften since her wedding disaster, but still kept her distance. No, she'd reschedule when she felt a bit stronger and ready to fight to get back a relationship with her twin. Right now, she was too damn tired.

Gen reached the kitchen and began setting up the coffeepot.

The door opened.

She twisted around in surprise and met his gaze. He held two paper bags and juggled a cup holder. Wearing faded Levi's and a black linen button-down, he looked fresh and comfortable. Only the lines around his eyes hinted at a lack of sleep. He hadn't shaved. Stubble hugged his lips and jaw, giving him that sexy morning-after look that made her body wake up and beg for more play. Rich chocolate curls fell in disarray over his brow.

Oh, this was bad. Real bad. Because now she knew how soft his lips were. The delicious bite of his strong, white

teeth. The intoxicating taste of his tongue against hers. A thousand memories of last night flashed before her, and her nipples tightened painfully while her thighs squeezed together in an effort to relieve the pressure.

He kicked the door closed. Dropped the bags onto the counter. Stared.

The same memories were in those piercing baby blues, growing darker with desire as he kept studying her, his gaze lingering on all the sensitive parts he had touched and bit and licked. She tried to talk, failed, and tried again.

"Thought you had left." She cleared her throat and forced out more words. "Thought you went home."

His brows lowered. "You think I'd just take off after the night we had?"

She swallowed and tried not to cling to the wild hope they could make this work. Whatever this was. "Didn't know."

He set the large coffee in front of her. "Now you do. I may be a jerk sometimes, but I'd never hurt you like that."

Gen stiffened her spine. "If you stayed just because you're afraid I'll freak out, don't worry. I'm fine. You can take off your armor."

His lips tipped in a smile. "You are always cranky before your coffee. Drink up." She glared but managed a few sips, closing her eyes in ecstasy at the first hit of caffeine. "I brought pastry, too. Apple turnover. Just out of the oven."

She slid onto the stool while he opened the bag, removed the wrapping, and put it on a plate. The sticky phyllo dough combined with fresh apples sent a sugar rush into her blood. "So good," she moaned. "Thanks."

She glanced up and froze.

His gaze devoured her alive, heavy with need and a hint of primitive maleness that made her want to strip off her clothes and tempt the beast. The image hit her hard. Knees spread, his mouth on her pussy, writhing and moaning her pleasure while he brought her to orgasm. The pastry dropped from her fingers.

He seemed to fight his decision to close the distance between them. Take her in his arms and kiss her. But then he turned away, and the spell was broken. Gen sipped more coffee, her appetite suddenly gone.

Screw this. She'd never been afraid to speak her mind with him before. Sex wasn't about to take away her honesty.