The Last Heartbeat Page 2

Her dark stare washed over him, then lingered on his chest. The slow inspection sent a hot sting through his body, and he breathed deep, working hard to maintain focus.

  Only a fool would assume she had the same salacious thoughts invading her mind, but he was clearly one goddamn fool. Why else had he made the incredibly stupid move of voicing his attraction to her?

  Her drawn-out silence now shook him to the core. It brought attention to the growing gloom in her increasingly befuddled stare, and it highlighted there was something intrinsically different about Ms. Agathe Santos. Something greater than natural beauty and bronzed features. Or snark.

  If nothing else, the drawn-out silence made him pray to a heaven he didn’t believe in that she might share a small fraction of attraction toward him.

  “The key should be enough.” A deliciously husky whisper poured from her lips, and she held out her hand again, gaze sweeping the surrounding bush land, while her pupils pooled. “And maybe you can walk me back to my door, after all.”

  Her attention slammed into him. The force of that stare detonated an imaginary explosion deep within his ears. He reached out and handed her the key, stifling an urge to wrap his hand around hers again, and not to let go this time. “Thanks for trusting me.”

  Trust. There, he said it. Now he had no choice but to make good on his unvoiced promise not to creep her out.

  He peered down at her scattered belongings on the ground and told the surge of blood through his body to calm the fuck down. She needed help, not some randy stranger breathing down her neck.

  “Feel free to keep the spare key.” He knelt and collected the fallen items from her purse.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” He stood and handed her the purse.

  Her frown eased, and a small light entered her eyes. The cold air nipped at his cheeks, and he turned away, homing in on his task of leading her back to her cabin, anything to distract from the hormones wreaking hell on his body.

  But even as he stalked ahead, he weighed the reality here. This woman had to be somewhere around her mid-twenties, with years of partying and maturing to get out of her system. He, on the other hand, had just turned thirty-six and had lost all interest in short-term flings.

  He needed mature.

  Someone to settle down with.

  Yearned for the comfort and consistency of a lifelong partner.

  Not that Agathe here would be interested in him, anyway. Not a young and beautiful woman like her, one sporting a restless demeanor and desires that probably went beyond a non-dramatic life, complete with children and shared domestic bliss.

  He took the few steps onto the cabin’s front veranda and for some inexplicable reason paused in the doorway, cursing his inability to summon something witty to say.

  So, he said nothing.

  Agathe peered up at him, her features set in an already familiar frown. “I’ll continue the key-finding expedition tomorrow morning before I catch my train back to Melbourne.”

  He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets, halting his desire to reach out and reassure her. “This is my place now; you’re not about to get in trouble. I’ll find the key soon enough and change the locks if I don’t.”

  Her shoulders dropped. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

  Her attention held a gentler stare, eyes lacking their hardened edge. So he offered a half-hearted smile. “You have a nice night, Agathe.”

  He turned away and told himself to let this woman be. If he were lucky, his sanity would return once he’d found his own house and some sleep, alone, in his own bed.

  “Luke.”

  The shaky, clipped sound of her voice held him paused at the veranda’s edge. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed an expletive. His name from her lips made a shiver of need wash over him, and he had little choice but to spin around and give her his focus.

  “I don’t know how to say this. I…” Her arms wrapped around the elbows of her green cardigan, the flared sleeves pulled over her fingertips. “Please don’t leave.”

  An invisible force hit him square in the chest, one that had him glaring at the cabin’s door, pulse racing at the possibility of some unseen threat. “Is something wrong?”

  She shook her head, luscious waves falling about her face. “No. Actually, yes.” Her cheeks lifted with a tight grimace. “I guess this is where I invite you in for coffee, even though we both know coffee isn’t the real reason for the invitation.”

  Something deep within him jolted, while his feet stayed fixed to the veranda. Time had stopped and taken him along with it. Not such a bad thing since he needed a moment to replay what she’d just said.

  Her suddenly pale lips hinted that he’d heard right; this otherwise stony woman had just propositioned him for sex. Actual sex! The rush of subsequent thoughts swarming his mind stopped any chance of making any real sense of her offer.

  An inner voice told him to keep his distance. Clearly one of them wasn’t thinking straight, and he couldn’t decide which one. Keeping his distance would have been the sensible thing to do, but his legs worked of their own volition and walked him toward her, his mouth adopting an uncharacteristic need to talk. “I’m not sure that’s what you want.”

  The scent of sunflowers and rain, watery and sweet, floated off her rich, dark skin. He pressed his eyes shut and sniffed at the surrounding smell of smoky gum trees, diverting his senses to something other than this soul-capturing woman. Only his efforts weren’t enough, not when light footsteps thudded against timber in his ears.

  He reopened his eyes to her blinking back up at him, those deep-brown pupils reeling him in again. “I’m not completely sure either, but it’s time, and I need to do this.”

  His chest muscles bunched at her mixed response. What am I supposed to do with that?

  She lifted a hand and rested it on his shoulder. Pure, instinctual need prompted his own hand around her slender waist.

  “Excuse me if I’m used to a little more enthusiasm.” Despite those words, his thumb stroked the soft, thin wool of her cardigan, his touch designed to coax her closer, to possess her, regardless of his doubts. A bastard move if ever there was one.

  She shook her head, fingertips tracking a slow line down his neck. “I do want this.” Her voice lowered and dripped with promise, while her careful touch drifted over his throbbing pulse, igniting heat throughout his body. And still, he had no idea what mystical turn of events had provoked this stunning creature into his arms or what he should do about it.

  He frowned at the small crease between her brows. “There’ll be no regrets?”

  She gave a small shake of her head, her eyes glistening, less hesitant now, more a hint at her vulnerability. “No regrets. I just don’t know how to start.”

  That statement didn’t match his initial impressions of her, though the innocent honesty did stir his blood. She was less a wild child, more a lost deer searching for the comfort of companionship.

  “Then let me help.” He brushed his lips to hers, though even his line about help felt like a lie. He wanted her, pure and simple and selfish as that.

  Her fingertips dug into his shoulder with light pressure, and her lithe frame curved like a delicate bundle of softness against his much larger body. He stroked his palm over her tense muscles. At her back, her gentle easing urged him to escalate the light grazing of lips into an all-consuming kiss.

  Her mouth matched his own hungry passion, a simple miracle in itself, each fine sweep of her tongue stoked a flame and turned his body impossibly hard. A quiet groan broke from her, and he fought a burning impulse to have her right there and then on the cold veranda floor.

  Agathe Santos was something else. Something magical. His wondrous forest nymph. A gift. A reward. And a sure contradiction to who he’d thought himself to be. She reduced him down to pure and present pleasure, his dreams of home and family damned. His only real justification was that he was cutting himself slack for all the years he’d visited hell and endured the worst humans cou
ld offer.

  Truth was, he didn’t care about why exactly she’d fallen into his arms; she made his heart thud and his body soar. And God help him, he didn’t want a one-night stand, but right about now, all he did want was for desire to fill her dusky eyes and to hear those exquisite lips call his name, over and over, and over again.

  3

  Agathe’s heart thundered against her ribcage, a wild drumbeat that must have journeyed all the way from her chest and into the gorgeous man pressed to her. She held him firm, her fingers trembling, while the scent of citrus and leather and something raw and masculine melted her from the inside out. She had no idea why, but she needed this. Now. With Luke.

  No one had ever kissed her with this much intensity, like she had his full attention, and he truly wanted her. Most frightening of all was the skin-tingling sense that when the time came for it, this man would know exactly what to do with her body.

  His hands tangled in her hair, and he tilted her chin up, demanding better access. She gave him just what he asked for, and a guttural groan rumbled through his chest.

  Luke was a force, an embodiment of untamed control, with his sharp breaths matching the fevered thrum of her heart. The hard surface of his pectoral muscles barely dented at her touch, and her body responded with a new wave of urgency. Maybe, just maybe, she’d found the perfect candidate to overshadow her sorrows.

  He didn’t have the body of a polished, city gym rat. His unyielding firmness wasn’t the kind any bench press or kettle bell could produce. What she held in her arms was all wide shoulders and solid planes, a grand example of uncompromising strength and hard work. Everything about him, from his thick forearms to his possessive kiss, spoke of rugged masculinity, and someone who’d maybe led a rough life.

  His lips gentled against hers, and he became more like a tame lion, his brawny fingers proving they were capable of light caresses. Tiny shards of pleasure effervesced from the nape of her neck down, and she shelved the need to analyze what this guy’s story might be.

  She gave a hard tug at his flannel shirt, and his tongue scraped her teeth, rewarding her bravery. The subtle taste of him made her body shiver and her somber heart rise. Holy flying monkeys, maybe this man could provide her one night free from the demons in her head.

  He released a slow moan, one that turned into a playful laugh, and then dragged his hands over the curve of her ass. With one easy tug, he lifted her off her feet and shoved her hard against the cottage wall. Air whooshed from her lungs, while the decisive move sent sensual heat searing through her veins.

  She wrapped her thighs around his narrow hips, loving the sensation of lumpy, weathered boards digging into her back, the discomfort helping to keep her mind on the present and far from the past. On the smoking-hot man holding her deliciously pinned.

  They’d soon be having sex. This wasn’t at all like anything she’d normally do, but maybe she’d found the antidote to her problems. She’d always been so careful, so controlled, and right now, she didn’t even care if they never made it inside. That’s how freaking irresistible this man was. Now all he had to do was make the last four years disappear.

  She arched into him, appealing for more. He responded by sliding his hand under her skirt and around her outer thigh. Heat gathered between her legs. Soon. God, she needed him soon. A desperate cry broke from her throat.

  She plucked at the clear plastic buttons on his shirt. One by one, her fingers kept going until she spotted the rise and fall of his honed pecs, and her fingers skimmed the beautifully rippled surface of his abs.

  His breath caught, lifting her excitement. For once, she had power. For once, she wasn’t poor, hurt Agathe Santos. She was a sex goddess, ready to give as good as she got. She bucked her hips against the bulge at the front of his pants; hard, desperate, arousal building, even though he barely touched her naked skin.

  He wrenched his lips away, chest heaving and breathing labored. “Holy hell, Agathe.”

  She gave a rough groan designed to compel him to continue. “You should know, most Latinas don’t take well to descriptions of hell as holy.”

  He hissed and ground against her; his bare palms running up and down her thighs, sending sparks of desire over her skin and igniting a searing sensation in her lower belly. “You should know, you do a piss-poor impression of a religious person.”

  She chuckled, then startled. Since when did she laugh?

  “You might be right.” She buried the joy, choosing not to focus on what it could mean.

  He pressed his forehead to hers and remained silent, until she locked her gaze with his. “Tell me again you want this.”

  She forced her stare not to veer away, even though it fought to break free. “Yes. I do.”

  Though not you, exactly, just the escape.

  She couldn’t afford more than a physical exchange, though the lone thought of what they were about to do had her closing her eyes to the seductive burn of wet heat pooling between her thighs.

  His lips found hers again, suggesting he sensed the need to hurry. Thank goodness the overhead porch light was off, as it meant this man might not notice her more overwrought reactions if the whole sex thing got too much. She wanted to believe he wouldn’t care either way, but something within her doubted that very much. She got the impression he was the type of person to notice everything, while allowing nothing to slip by unacknowledged.

  He leaned in, and his erection pressed into her again. The feel of it made her tummy churn. She hadn’t had sex in years, and this guy wasn’t small. Sex with Luke would hurt.

  And it wasn’t his size alone that made her heart swell; it was the power imbalance too. The promise in his touch. The intensity of his kiss, even as his tongue lashed hers and softened her further. His general confidence… He had so much on her when she had close to zero. It had been so long since she’d been with a man. Her spirit so completely broken. The idea of not being in control was more than she could bear.

  A pain-filled whimper fell from her.

  He froze and just as quickly, pulled his lips away.

  That simple cry revealed too much, while another unintended sob broke loose.

  She lashed a hand over her mouth, trying hard to keep quiet. She’d well and truly fucked this whole thing up.

  “Please.” The weak plea came as a disembodied whisper from under her hand. “Don’t stop.”

  The corners of her eyes stung, and she clasped her legs tight around his hips. His backing out now would only confirm that any kind of pleasure wasn’t meant for a woman like her. She glanced up at the black veranda roof and swore, only thankful that no tears fell.

  Luke lowered her to the ground and stepped back. “I have to. You’re not totally into this, and now, neither am I. And please, don’t cry; you’ve done nothing wrong.”

  His heavy breath indicated stopping wasn’t easy for him either, but the fact that he did, the fact he now reached to stroke her face, snapped some metaphorical bungee cord within her.

  She jerked away from him, back to reality and her stagnant life. For a second there, she’d glimpsed escape, but someone like her didn’t deserve escape.

  “I’m not crying, and don’t give me your pity.” She sneered at the softened edges around his eyes, then ran her angry gaze over his exposed chest. “There’s only one thing I want from you.”

  He merely jutted his chin toward her hand. “You’re shaking.”

  She tucked her hand behind her back, but Luke reached out and pressed something cold and metallic into her palm instead.

  “If I don’t end this now, you’ll be crying soon enough.” His jaw ticked. “Go inside and look after yourself, before you persuade me to do something we’ll both regret.”

  She peered down at the cabin key within her hand. She must have passed it back to him during their exchange. By the time she lifted her gaze, Luke had spun away, his heavy footfall taking him down the aged veranda steps.

  She sank against the cabin wall and waited as he disappeare
d into the darkness. The calm landscape ahead didn’t at all reflect how she felt. Her thoughts were less charming Roseford woodland, and more desolate dystopian desert. A place where cold-blooded snakes and violent sandstorms eroded her frazzled grasp for freedom.

  How dare she ever try to move on! The only sanity-saving concession was that she’d never face Luke Whatever–the–rest-of-his-name-was again. She’d return to Melbourne tomorrow, reprise her role as the icy and sexless workaholic Agathe Santos everyone recognized. And once again, her life of stable misery would go on.

  The next morning, Agathe dragged her small suitcase onto the veranda. She pulled the cabin door closed behind her, an empty envelope clutched under her armpit, as she set about fulfilling the previous owner’s instructions to leave the key under a potted plant at the veranda’s edge. Assumedly, Luke would be over later to pick it up, and if luck worked in her favor, she’d be far from the cabin long before then.

  She slipped the key into the envelope, then knelt, moving the shiny blue ceramic plant pot. A folded white card waited for her underneath, and her heart snagged. She didn’t need to guess who this was from.

  She sat cross-legged on the ashy-brown, weathered boards and took a sharp breath.

  Agathe,

  The spare key was in the paddock, not far from where we met last night.

  She peered ahead to the hilly terrain and early autumn leaves rusty in the chilly morning fog, her muscles tensed at the reminder of last night. Well, as bad as things had been, at least Luke’s key recovery erased one tiny portion of her guilt.

  I can’t stop thinking about last night.

  She snorted out a sardonic laugh. Yeah, because he thinks I’m insane!

  Despite how things ended, I’d like a chance to get to know you. My number is at the end of this note.

  She frowned at that last line. Why would he want to know more about a clusterfuck like her? Maybe he was a masochist. Maybe she was the one who needed to stay away. God knew, her own self-destructive tendencies were hard enough to deal with.