All Chained Up

  He lowered down slightly, his hands braced on the mattress on either side of her. He bowed his head, still buried inside her, breathing quick, shallow breaths. She lifted a hand, tempted to touch him, but an overwhelming sense of uncertainty swamped her.

  What now?

  It seemed she had her answer when he slid out from her body and got up from the bed. Without a word, without a look, he disappeared inside her bathroom. She heard him remove the condom and drop it into her small wastebasket. The sound of running water followed. She bit her lip and curled onto her side, waiting for him to return and imagining a million things to say as he dressed and took himself away, leaving her on the bed. Leaving her apartment.

  She commanded herself to be an adult. No matter what, to not look as crushed as she felt. It was just sex. She should be grateful that it had been so good. Fabulous even. He’d given her unbelievable pleasure and he wasn’t going to make it complicated with talk or speeches or promises that he would never keep.

  He returned then and stood looking down at her for a moment. She could hardly breathe as they stared at one another, not speaking. Suddenly she wished she had pulled the covers down to cover herself. With every inch of her exposed to his perusal, she felt self-­conscious. Already this wasn’t going as predicted. Why was he still here? Why didn’t he say good-­bye and go?

  Knox reached to the top of the bed and tugged the comforter. She scooted to the opposite side of the bed, bewildered but giving him the access he wanted—­which was to apparently pull down the covers. That accomplished, he reached for her and placed her in the middle of the bed on her cool sheets. Her mind was reeling. She blamed her sluggish thoughts on the multiple orgasms. When he slid in beside her and turned her so that she was spooning him, she was still slow to process what was happening.

  He was staying. Spending the night.

  Every alarm bell in her head should be going off, but she could do nothing but hold herself still against him, her heart beating like a drum in her too tight chest as he wrapped one hard arm around her waist and pulled her back until she fit snug against his chest.

  Briar finally found her voice. “What are you doing?”

  “Going to sleep.”

  She moistened her lips, somehow doubting she would ever be able to fall asleep like this. She had never slept with a man before. She and Beau had always gone to their separate beds. This was alien and strange. And it was Knox Callaghan. At the moment that struck her as the weirdest thing of all. He had been an inmate a short time ago, as off limits as a guy could get, and now they were spooning in her bed.

  But it didn’t seem to affect him. She listened as his breathing slowed and evened. He was actually going to sleep. She squeezed her eyes shut in a hard, punishing blink, telling herself she would never be able to do the same. Not with his big, delicious body wrapped around hers. It wouldn’t be possible. Her hand came up to cover his forearm, enjoying the tight ropes of sinew beneath his skin that made her feel so safe. So protected. That was her last thought before she drifted to sleep.

  FOURTEEN

  KNOX WOKE WITH a start in the dark, disorientated . . . feeling like he was back in the prison again. In the hole where everything was darkness and cold. He whimpered, feeling lost, alone. Except there was warmth. Another body beside him. Wrapped up around him. Soft with sweet-­smelling hair and a rounded ass that was rubbing against his dick. Pears.

  His body knew her. Wanted her. He curled a hand around her hip and dipped down her navel to her beckoning pussy. Thighs parted sweetly at the first foray of his fingers. She was wet. Ready for him.

  Briar sighed, moaned his name and rubbed back against his cock. He didn’t even hesitate. He removed his hand and positioned himself, sliding inside her, pushing deep. Tight heat surrounded him and he ground down against her, pumping faster, sliding through her slick warmth. Nothing had ever felt this good. So perfect.

  Soft cries filled his ears, and his hands found her breasts, molding the plump mounds as he rolled over, pinning her under him and working in and out of her body.

  “Knox, yes, yes, yes . . .”

  The sound of his name drove him into a frenzy. She grew tighter around him, closing and squeezing him like a fist as he pumped in and out of her, slamming into her hard. He pushed and pulled and came with a groan, spilling himself deep inside all that sweet, milking heat.

  He collapsed on the pliant body under him, feeling as warm and satiated as he had ever felt.

  “Uh,” a voice said from under him, “you’re a little heavy.”

  He stiffened and jackknifed into a sitting position.

  He fixed wide eyes on Briar as she lifted to a sitting position beside him.

  He dragged a hand over his skull, chafing the back of his head where the hair was the shortest. “Oh, God.” He’d just fucked Briar. Half asleep. Without a condom. “A-­Are you okay?”

  He inhaled a thin breath, wondering if this was what he had become. It was one of his worst fears. That the Rock had made him into a monster that destroyed those softer than him.

  She released a breathy little laugh that didn’t exactly scream you-­animal-­get-­the-­hell-­away-­from-­me. “Well, that was one way to wake up, that’s for sure.”

  “Oh, shit, Briar.” He reached out a hand to touch her and then dropped it at his side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—­”

  “Why are you apologizing? I wanted it, too. I didn’t tell you to stop. I didn’t say no.”

  I didn’t say no.

  He tried to take comfort in that. He did, but he wondered . . . would he have heard her if she had? Bile rose in his throat because he wasn’t sure. He hated himself right then. How could he be . . . this? It became painstakingly clear to him that he needed to get as far as possible from Briar Davis. Before he fucked up her life as much as he had his own. He dragged both hands over his skull.

  She sighed then, looking so calm when he was losing his shit. “I guess the whole no condom thing was reckless,” she admitted, and that’s when he heard the shakiness in her voice. She wasn’t as composed as he thought.

  “I’m clean, Briar,” he sought to reassure her—­of at least that one thing he could reassure her. “I don’t use drugs . . . I haven’t been with anyone in a very long time.” It felt like forever. Because the last time he was with a girl, he had been that other person. A boy. The Knox Callaghan of another life. Another world and time. That Knox Callaghan might have been good enough for the likes of Briar Davis. He could have asked her out and taken her on an actual date. The kind of thing that good ­people did. Guys that didn’t kill. Guys that didn’t spend the better part of a decade penned up like an animal.

  She hesitated. “Really?”

  He sucked in a breath and admitted what she needed to hear. What she deserved to hear. “I haven’t been with anyone since I went in. When I was twenty. And I didn’t have sex while I was in there either.” It was necessary to state. Plenty of guys did. Both willingly and unwillingly.

  “Wait . . . so you’ve been out for almost two months now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you haven’t . . .” She couldn’t hide the incredulity from her voice or the widening of her eyes in the gloom of her room.

  “Why is that such a surprise? I didn’t sleep with anyone for eight years. What’s another two months?” He detected her shock in the long pause of silence. He reached out and pushed the hair back off her shoulder. “I went a long time without. Figured I might as well wait for something good.” Something other than a quickie with someone he just met. “And you were very good . . . Nurse Davis.”

  A dark shadow crept over her cheeks and he knew she was blushing.

  His levity slipped, remembering that it had been so good that he didn’t even use a condom just now. “But I shouldn’t have done that. Not like that.”

  “According to my menstruation app, this isn?
??t even the time of the month when I’m most fertile,” she said quickly, like speaking the words fast made it somehow less embarrassing. She reached for the comforter as though recalling her nakedness. He watched hungrily as she pulled the covers over her, hiding her body from his eyes. That would be his last glimpse of all those curves, and that knowledge filled him with an ache. A longing that shot straight to his cock. He felt himself harden all over again and knew he had to get the hell away from her. Fast. Before he lost control again and she was too sweet and obliging to deny him.

  “It’s not likely . . .” she hedged.

  Not likely. He supposed she would know about that better than anyone. She was a nurse and it was her body, but he still wasn’t proud of himself, and he still wasn’t okay with what happened. No matter how much he’d reveled in her . . . bare-­skinned. No matter how much he wanted to lose himself in her again, he couldn’t.

  She was as bad for him as he was for her. Around her, he lost control. And he needed to be in control. Losing control was what got him in prison. And he had vowed to never make that mistake again.

  He stood up from the bed and reached for his clothes. He dressed in the dark, watching her watch him. Emotion flickered over her gaze. She was so transparent. Wore her emotions like a badge on her face. It made her all the more enticing. She wasn’t hard to read. He didn’t have to wonder what she felt or thought. Unlike everyone else he had been around in the last eight years. Always distrusting them. Always second-­guessing.

  She looked wounded. And that only made him feel like a bigger bastard. He pulled his shirt back on and then stood there, his hands hanging at his sides, empty, bereft.

  “You’re going.” Not a question. Just a simple statement. She lifted her chin as though his leaving her in the middle of the night didn’t bother her in the least. As though he hadn’t just screwed her and was now running for the door. No, it wasn’t a huge fuck-­you at all.

  “I should go.”

  She nodded stiffly in lieu of a reply.

  “You’ll let me know,” he added, his words hanging with implication, his gaze sharp on her. You’ll let me know if I messed up your life and knocked you up.

  “Of course,” Briar said quickly. Too quickly. And he knew she was lying. She wouldn’t let him know. The good, responsible, respectable girl in her wasn’t going to reach out to a felon she had a one-­night stand with for anything. For her, this was where it would end. If the possibility of fatherhood wasn’t hanging over him, he could let her do that. But she would be hearing from him again.

  Fatherhood.

  A bolt of panic shot down his spine. Knox never thought he would be a father. Never wanted to be. It was enough for him to take care of Uncle Mac, run Roscoe’s, and convince his parole officer that he was walking the straight and narrow. Eventually, North would get out and together they would take care of Uncle Mac and Roscoe’s. The bar had been in his family for over seventy years. It was their legacy. Roscoe’s had been standing when Sweet Hill was nothing but tumbleweeds. For now it was on him to make sure it kept standing. Fatherhood wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to him.

  North wasn’t like him. He still smiled. Still found things to laugh at—­even in prison. North could be a father someday. Married with a ­couple of kids. Not him. He had ruined enough lives. He wouldn’t ruin some innocent kid’s life, too. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin Briar Davis.

  If it wasn’t already too late for that. That fate might already be decided. In that case, he would make the best of it. It was the only thing he could do.

  “Briar . . .” He hesitated, hating to make any demands on her. Knowing he didn’t have that right, but she had to understand. She had to believe she wasn’t alone in this. “I want to know.”

  “Okay. Fine.” An edge entered her tone. “I’ll let you know.”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened it to his contacts. “What’s your number?”

  She paused for a moment, and he arched an eyebrow, waiting until she rattled off her number. He punched it in, saving her to his contacts and then sliding his phone into his back jeans pocket. “I’ll text you so you have my number.”

  “Okay.” Another one word reply. He didn’t like it. Her cold acceptance. He wanted her to talk. To say something. To not sit bundled under her covers looking so wounded. But then he would have to be someone else. A guy that would spend the night with her. Take her to breakfast. To church. To dinner at his parents’. Not him.

  “All right.” He moved to the door, feeling like a grade A bastard. He hovered in the threshold of her room. Nothing about this was right. Leaving. Staying. “You’ll be hearing from me.”

  Turning, he walked out of her apartment. And tried to forget the sight of her sitting alone in that bed.

  FIFTEEN

  THURSDAY NIGHTS WEREN’T the busiest at Roscoe’s but they still saw a hefty crowd. Bud was closing up tonight, so Knox left just shy of midnight. The crowd had already started to thin by then. Some ­people actually had to get up early for work. Aunt Alice had off tonight and she promised to take dinner to Uncle Mac. Knowing her, she had probably stocked the fridge with fresh groceries, too. At least the old man had a good meal tonight. Knox would get up early and make him some eggs and bacon before he took his run.

  He rarely missed a morning run. After eight years locked up he couldn’t get enough of jogging in the wide-­open spaces and dragging all that clean fresh air into his lungs. He wasn’t in a ten-­by-­eight cell. He wasn’t in the yard either. He didn’t have to worry about where he could and could not go. There was none of the constant tension. Just freedom.

  The back parking lot was empty as he made his way to his pickup. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, checking for messages. He didn’t have many contacts. Only a few ­people even bothered to text him. His aunt and uncle. ­Couple of guys from work so they could verify work schedules. His cousin Becky texted him occasionally.

  But he wasn’t checking for them. He was checking to see if Briar had texted. He knew it was probably too soon for her to know one way or another if she was pregnant, but it had been almost a week since he saw her, and he couldn’t get her out of his head. He told himself it was because he’d screwed up and neglected to use a condom, but he knew that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the only reason. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. How she felt against him. How she tasted. One night together hadn’t purged her from his system. It only made him want her again.

  Loose gravel skidded beneath his boots as he came to a hard stop at the sight of his truck. It was the same truck he owned before he went in. He’d saved up a lot of summers for it. It wasn’t in the best shape, but it ran smooth, and it definitely looked better before he went in to work tonight. A ­couple of the windows were crashed in and it looked like someone took a baseball bat to the body of the truck.

  They’d also written in red spray paint across his door. KILLER.

  “Shit.” He exhaled a heavy breath. His aunt had mentioned that a ­couple of guys stopped by Roscoe’s asking for him. She suggested that they might be old friends, but he knew better. He didn’t have any friends left. He hadn’t kept in touch with anyone while he was inside.

  They were probably friends of Mason Leary. The guy he killed. He’d had friends. Family. ­People who refused to believe that Mason was a brutal rapist. They would care if Knox was out. They would take exception to the fact that he was free to walk the streets. They’d do this to his truck. And maybe it was their right. He’d taken someone from them, after all. Leary might have destroyed Katie and deserved a cold grave . . . but that didn’t mean other ­people weren’t hurt over losing him. Knox was responsible for that.

  Opening the door, he brushed the glass off his seat and climbed in. Starting the engine, he pulled out of Roscoe’s parking lot and headed down the street, the word KILLER emblazoned across his door.

  He clenched his
hands around the steering wheel and tried not to let it bother him, tried not to let the sour taste suffusing his mouth spread and sink its teeth into him. Every muscle in his body tightened, squeezing hard, rejecting this even if he knew it to be the truth. It had never mattered in prison if he was a killer. Everyone was guilty of something there.

  But out here it did matter. It mattered that he wasn’t decent or respectable. No one would ever look at him and see anyone worth a damn. As far as the world was concerned, he was better off in prison. Out here he was just a fucking waste of space.

  KNOX DIDN’T CALL HER. Well, other than his initial text giving her his contact information. Briar couldn’t bring herself to call him even though he was all she thought about. She had no reason to call him. It had only been six days since they were together. He’d asked her to let him know whether she was pregnant or not, but she wouldn’t know for certain this soon. She could have bought a home pregnancy kit—­or even tested herself at work—­but it just seemed too soon to yield accurate results. Not to mention she didn’t want to attract anyone’s attention at the clinic. The last thing she wanted was to start tongues wagging around the water cooler.

  Plus, she refused to believe it was possible. The odds were slim. She clung to that.

  She stepped out of the shower and didn’t even bother with a towel, simply folded herself into her terry-­cloth robe. The sound of the TV carried from the living room, a low rumble on the air. A side effect of living alone. Even when she wasn’t watching TV it was always on, so that the silence never got to be too much.

  She stood in front of her bathroom mirror and spritzed her hair with the necessary detangler. Breathing in the familiar aroma of pears, she set about brushing out the wet snarls. She almost didn’t hear the knock—­at first thinking it was just the TV. She paused mid-­stroke and stuck her head out of the bathroom.