The Last Heartbeat

Chapter 3-1

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 a*s. 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 s*x. 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 s*x 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 n***d 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 s*x 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 s*x in years, and this guy wasn’t small. s*x 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 f****d 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 disappeared 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.