Chapter 8 Ryker #2
Her eyes met mine, vulnerable in a way that made my throat tight.
She’d trusted me with this. The magnitude of that trust settled over me like an oath.
Unspoken but binding. I wouldn’t forget it.
Couldn’t. This moment had changed something between us, shifted us from whatever we’d been before into something I didn’t have words for yet.
I couldn’t stop myself from stroking the soft skin of her cheekbone with my thumb.
Instantly, something changed in those green depths. Like she’d just discovered she could let someone see her break and the world wouldn’t end. Like maybe, just maybe, she’d forgotten what it felt like to let someone else carry the weight for five seconds.
“So …” She stepped back, clearing her throat. “Is the detective on his way then?”
Nice deflection, Counselor. I’d allow it. For now.
“Yeah.” I watched her rebuild her walls brick by brick. “It’s thoughtful of you to check on Dakota.”
“My brother’s friends have been inviting me into their circle.” Another hair tuck. Another flash of that scar. “The least I can do is reciprocate.”
It bothered me, how she seemed to feel like an obligation. Like she had to pay them back, simply for them being kind to her.
I was about to say as much when, suddenly, the elevator jerked to a violent stop.
Faith stumbled forward, and I caught her. Effortlessly. As if my body was attuned to her every movement and was already prepped for her to literally land in my arms. When I steadied her back on her feet, did I let go?
No. No, I didn’t.
My hands remained positioned on her elbows as her eyes went wide with horror, darting around the stalled elevator like a trapped bird seeking escape.
“Just a glitch,” I reassured. “We’ll be moving any second.”
But my reassurance bounced off her panic. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, the swell of her breasts something I absolutely should not be fixating on right now.
“Faith.” I moved my hand to cup her cheek again, thumb stroking the delicate skin in an attempt to anchor her back to safety. “It’s okay. We’re safe.”
She tore her gaze from the elevator doors and locked on to mine.
God, I loved it a little too much. Being the one to hold her in the only time she’d ever shown vulnerability. Being her sanctuary in the storm of fear. And being the one who could protect her from her own terror.
“It’s okay,” I repeated, my thumb still stroking her cheek.
When she nibbled on her bottom lip, I had no business fixating on the movement.
But, God, those lips. She had no idea how many times I’d been staring at them, wondering what glorious words would tumble out next.
Wondering what they would feel like, pressed against my own.
I searched her gaze for any sign that what I was about to do wasn’t okay.
Stop this, my rational brain commanded. She’s your best friend’s sister. Plus, what if this was taking advantage of her, being trapped in an elevator while she’s having a panic attack?
But what if it takes her mind off of it? I countered.
That’s when I caught it: hunger flickering in those stunning eyes, raw and unmistakable.
And damn if my chest didn’t burn with satisfaction.
She stared at my mouth like it held answers to questions she hadn’t known she was asking.
The slight tilt of her head toward me, lips parted just barely, breath coming shallow and quick. Every signal screamed yes.
I had no business pulling her face closer to mine. No business threading my fingers through her hair, angling her jaw just so.
But she was in my arms, looking at me like I was everything.
I closed the distance and pressed my lips against hers. The first touch was gentle. Testing.
Then she made this sound that was half gasp, half moan, and I lost my mind. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me down while she pushed up on her toes. I could taste cinnamon, could feel her heart hammering against my chest.
I had never kissed a woman like this before.
The intensity was overwhelming, like fireworks and coming home and every fantasy rolled into one.
Heat shot from my mouth straight down, and for just a brief moment, I wondered if we’d be trapped long enough to take this further.
To give me time to kiss her neck, taste the salt of her skin, explore every inch of her.
She nibbled my bottom lip.
Holy shit. I backed her up and pressed her against the wall, the cool metal of the elevator contrasting with the heat radiating from her body.
Maybe she was just terrified of closed spaces, and this afforded distraction. But something told me it meant more. There’d been a pull between us since we first met, like magnetic poles drawn together. I slid my hand down her throat and cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt.
She gasped and bit my lower lip harder this time.
“You’re going to kill me,” I growled against her mouth.
“Good,” she shot back.
Feisty. I smiled against her mouth, claiming her tongue with my own. I reached for the hem of her shirt, fingers trailing up the smooth skin of her stomach. Another scar there, raised and circular. Cigarette burn, my brain supplied. Old. Childhood.
The list of people I wanted to destroy on her behalf grew longer.
I wanted to ask her about it, wondering if she’d confess any more of it to me, but before I had the chance, the elevator suddenly jerked again. And hummed to life.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
We had seconds, maybe.
I held her, and one question screamed louder than anything else: What did this mean to her?
“Faith …”
The doors opened with a cheerful ding that deserved death.
She straightened her clothes. Finger-combed her hair. Meanwhile, I stood there like an idiot, still tasting cinnamon, unwilling and unable to let this moment pass without saying something more.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I met you.” Jesus, Kincaid. Forward much?
Her hand stilled against her collar. For half a second, something unguarded flickered across her face. Like it flattered her, and maybe, just maybe, she felt the same way. But then her teeth caught that bottom lip, worrying it the way she always did when she struggled for words.
She finally looked at me then for five long-ass seconds. Her mouth opened, but closed just as quickly, and any hope of her saying something more died when she stepped into Axel’s penthouse.
We walked into the foyer as if we hadn’t just been devouring each other seconds ago.
Axel emerged. His pants and torso were dripping wet (what the fuck?), and, man, he was irritated as hell.
“The hell are you two doing here?” he barked.
Dakota emerged from the hallway, wearing nothing but a towel, clearly attempting to sneak toward Axel’s bedroom. She froze mid-step when she spotted us.
Faith’s gaze traveled over Axel’s predicament before snapping to Dakota. A smirk bloomed across her face. “Well, looks like you’re feeling better.”
It gutted me, seeing how effortlessly she slipped back into her strong, sarcastic self.
In my line of work, I’d seen this kind of behavior from victims of violence.
Skilled and conditioned to hide things. To hide horrors behind half-truths and smiles.
I hated that I was seeing something similar play out in front of me now.
Don’t get me wrong; I was proud she camouflaged her pain behind strength and sarcasm, but I wondered what all she’d been through.
And would she ever trust me enough to share?
“What are you doing here?” Axel repeated angrily.
I cleared my throat, trying to summon my professional voice while my mind kept replaying Faith biting my lip. “The police are downstairs.” At least they should be here by now. “Remember how I arranged to have you give your statements here rather than at the station?”
“I thought they were showing up later,” Axel said.
“It is later.”
Faith’s eyes glided over Axel’s wet pants. “Did you get … distracted? Time run away from you?”
Axel shoved his hands down in front of his crotch.
Faith’s smirk widened as she winked at Dakota. “I can see what the appeal is. Congrats, girl.”
“Faith!” Dakota protested, her cheeks flaming.
Faith shrugged, completely unrepentant. “If you have to be fake engaged to him, at least you’re getting the real perks too. Big ones. Good for you.”
Axel looked up at the heavens like he willed them to swallow him whole. I knew the feeling. I was currently willing the floor to open up and drop me back into that elevator, where I could continue what Faith and I had started.
“Want us to reschedule?” Faith waggled her eyebrows. “I mean, we could always tell the police you were … indisposed.”
Dakota’s cheeks incinerated. “No,” she said quickly.
“We can’t reschedule,” I chastised, forcing myself back into responsible attorney mode. We had statements to give. I couldn’t think about how perfectly Faith had fit against me or how I’d seen something real in her.
Axel looked distinctly disappointed at my professional assessment.
“What are you two doing together?” Dakota wondered aloud.
My pulse spiked. Could she tell? Was there some neon sign over our heads, screaming, JUST MADE OUT IN YOUR ELEVATOR?
“Bumped into him downstairs,” Faith explained smoothly. Again, it bothered me how easily the partial truth came. What else had this incredible, powerful woman forced herself to bury? “I was coming here to check on you.” She smirked at Dakota. “Looks like you’re feeling great though.”
After a few seconds of what looked like an internal argument with himself, Axel pinched the bridge of his nose. He told us to sit in the living room while he went to change.
As Faith and I moved toward the couch, I caught her eye.
“Faith.”
She shook her head, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” My heart slammed against my sternum. “I just got my brother back, and it’s not exactly brilliant to get involved with one of his closest friends.”
Every word felt like evidence being stacked against me. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we present Exhibit A: Why This Can Never Happen Again.
But then she looked at me, and for just a second, I saw the same hunger from the elevator.
“This isn’t over,” I said quietly.
“Ryker …”
In that moment, I was terrified it might be the last time she’d ever let me kiss her.
But it wasn’t.
A month later, I’d found myself in a bridal suite at Blake and Tessa’s wedding, Faith’s bridesmaid dress pooled on the floor, her legs wrapped around my waist as she moaned.
The taste of champagne on her tongue. The sound of her gasping my name like a prayer she didn’t want to say, but couldn’t hold back.
It should have been enough. Should have gotten her out of my system.
Instead, it only made me want her more.
But now, watching two officers escort her down a sterile hospital corridor, I wasn’t thinking about want. I was thinking about loss.
Faith glanced back over her shoulder one last time. Just a flicker of a half a second, maybe less. But in that brief moment, I saw everything she was trying to hide. The fear. The apology. The silent plea she’d never voice aloud.
Don’t give up on me.
My chest cracked open.
This woman—this fierce, guarded, impossibly strong woman—had let me see her break. In an elevator. In a bridal suite. In stolen moments she pretended meant nothing. She’d handed me pieces of herself she’d never given anyone else.
And now she was walking away in handcuffs.
I pulled out my phone. Started making calls. Because Faith Morrison wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life in a cell if I had anything to say about it.
She’d trusted me with her vulnerability.
Now I’d prove that trust wasn’t misplaced.