Redemption Hills: The Complete Collection

2. Salem

TWO

SALEM

“Come on in, darlin’. Don’t be shy. Make yourself at home.” The man’s voice was basically sandpaper, rough and raw, though it somehow carried an undertone of casualness.

My heart thudded. A wild stampede that beat out ahead of me as I inched toward the door Jud Lawson left open.

I had to have lost my mind.

Following this stranger into his apartment.

Giving him my name like it didn’t matter.

Hell, getting on his bike in the first place.

Like he could command any truth out of me, and I had no power to control it, even when I knew better than giving him anything.

But I’d called my brother about fifteen times while I’d been stranded out in the rain in the middle of nowhere. Each call had gone without an answer.

My spirit had sunk deeper into hopelessness with each attempt.

It’s funny how I’d prayed for help, then I’d wanted to turn around and refuse it when the single headlight had come spearing through the storm.

As if he were some kind of wicked savior, the man had emerged through the hazy darkness.

Bearded and muscled and covered in tattoos.

An imposing force.

A liberator or a conqueror, I couldn’t be sure.

The only thing I’d known was my knees had knocked and my stomach had flipped and every ounce of self-preservation I possessed had flared in warning at my recklessness.

But when you were desperate? You were left with few options, and the ones you were given you had little choice but to take.

Which was precisely the reason why I warily stepped through the door at the top of the stairwell and into his loft.

My eyes raced to take it in. It was just as massive and over-the-top as his shop downstairs. Everything was matte black, burnt metal, and expensive leather.

Rugged and rough and jaw-dropping.

Just like the man.

Jud Lawson moved ahead of me. Each step of his boots across the black bamboo floors sent a shockwave of heat blistering through the cool air.

I fought for conviction. To remain unaffected and aloof.

Not to be the fool that melted on the floor in a puddle of need at his feet.

Accomplishing it would be a feat of nature because the man was outrageously gorgeous.

Forbiddingly so.

So ridiculously tall and wide he had to double me in size.

Intimidating and raw.

Nothing but a beast of a man with this sexy, devilish smile.

And somehow, he seemed soft at the same time, rippling with this charm that tweaked the edges of his plush, sexy mouth and sent a skitter fumbling through my chest.

The hardest part was the way he kept looking at me with these obsidian eyes that were darker than the night. That gaze left no question that if I gave him the chance, he would devour me.

Sucking in a deep breath, I stepped into the loft on shaky legs. I was soaked through, dripping, unsure of what to do.

I wrung my fingers.

The man felt my pause, and he shifted to look back at me with mischief playing across his handsome face.

My stomach twisted in a show of want.

Crap.

I knew better, I knew better.

But attraction was something you couldn’t control.

It was instant.

Unstoppable.

Awakened in a beat before you even knew what was happening.

So, I’d deal with it. Not act on it.

Lifting my chin, I gestured at myself.

I shouldn’t have.

Because those eyes swept over me, head to toe.

Energy lashed.

A crackle in the air.

A whip of lust.

“I’m wet.” I said it like a challenge.

His tongue darted out like he was suddenly thirsty.

Shit.

I took a slippery step back, realizing what I’d said. Where his mind had gone. My thighs pressed together because with the way he kept looking at me, it was the truth.

But seriously, he just wanted me to go parading into this ridiculous luxury that he called a house? It looked like a friggin’ showroom for pretentious masculinity.

Except the man—the man didn’t look so uptight.

A rough chuckle scraped from his throat, and I was wishing it didn’t sound so nice.

“As am I, darlin’.”

He gestured at the giant wet footprints he’d left in his wake.

My throat tremored and my tongue swept my dried lips.

Double crap.

He chuckled more, the deep sound mixing with the pour of the rain on the roof. It was a low whirr that whispered and cast a hazy tone over the space. Lightning flashed at the windows and thunder rumbled through the heavens.

“Wait right there.”

He turned and hulked away, across the living area that took up the right side of the open-concept loft, through the kitchen, and toward the set of double doors at the far back wall.

The man was nothing but bristling, thick muscle, arms and legs bound in overbearing strength.

The exposed skin on his arms was covered in a labyrinth of ink.

His stride was long and purposed, easy, but still, there was a hint of harshness in his stance. I knew in that confidence the man was no stranger to hazard and jeopardy. He would strike in the face of danger, and his opponent was unlikely to make it out unscathed on the other side.

He disappeared through the double doors.

My pulse thudded and beat while I stood there waiting like a fool. I glanced at my phone again, cringing when I saw I still hadn’t received a word.

They’d be worried.

Hell, I was worried.

But if my calls weren’t going through, neither would theirs.

A minute later, Jud came striding back out, though he’d ditched his boots, and his feet were bare. He carried a stack of clothes and a towel.

“Not much, but at least you can grab a shower and get into something dry until the storm blows over. We’ll get your clothes into the dryer.”

A soft smile hitched his mouth as he moved my way.

My spirit flailed.

Sweet and intense and intimidating.

That combo promised he might be the most dangerous man I’d ever met.

This flirty charm that radiated from his being, sure to wrap every unsuspecting female around his fingers. Salivating for a taste of what he had to offer.

That shock of pitch-black hair on his head was wet, longer on top, sticking to the stony angles of his face.

His thick beard was the same color as his hair. A beard I had to fight the sudden urge to run my fingers through when he offered me the pile of fresh clothes.

The man was nothing but a tease and a trap.

“There you go.” He tipped his head toward the row of three doors on the opposite side of the room. “Guest room is third door on the left. Get yourself a shower.”

Our fingers touched when he passed me the stack. Shivers raced, a flashfire across my flesh.

He angled in, his voice so low and rough, “You need to get warmed up, darlin’. You’re cold.”

A fingertip trailed my wrist where a rash of chills lifted.

He eased back, those obsidian eyes sparking with mirth.

Jerk.

He knew exactly what he was doing to me. Still, I mumbled, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, gorgeous. Like I said, make yourself at home. I’m going to grab a shower, too.”

I leaned down and twisted the stupid heels off my feet so I didn’t leave a trail of pockmarks on his floors. I dangled them from my fingers and clutched the pile of clothes in the other hand. I padded as quickly as I could across the floor in the direction of the door he had pointed to, feeling the warmth of his gaze on me the whole time.

This was insane, but truth be told, I was freezing, the trembling starting from deep within.

It didn’t help when the AC came on and started to pump cold air into the space.

At the doorway, I paused to peer back. The man remained across the room.

His stare intent. His being profound.

There was something about him that was so big and overwhelming, and it didn’t have a thing to do with his size.

No doubt, I should fear it, so I figured it was a big, big problem that I suddenly felt comfort under his watch. Safety in his refuge. Damned stupid.

I knew better than to trust anyone, and here I was in this stranger’s house, and not a soul knew where I was.

I tore myself from the hook of who he was and rushed the rest of the way into the bedroom. It was dark inside, and I shut the door, quick to lock it. I turned and rested against the door, struggling for a breath. To get myself under control. To shake myself out of whatever fantasy I felt like I might be falling into.

But there was something about tonight that made it feel like none of this was real.

Outside reality.

Because I didn’t do things like this. Was never so reckless. The last four years had been lived in complete caution. One foot moving and one eye over my shoulder. No room for mistakes or missteps.

But my brother had convinced me it was safe to come to this small town where he’d brought our grandmother to live three months ago.

Years had passed.

Years of running.

Years of barely existing.

He’d insisted it was time, and we couldn’t keep on the way we had.

My chest clutched, and I rocked my head back against the wood of the door.

God, I had to believe him. Had to cling to the hope of that truth.

Laughing off the confusion of it, I pushed from the door and moved to the en suite bathroom.

I flipped on the light.

It was every bit as ostentatious as the rest of the loft.

Exposed white brick walls with reclaimed wood floating counters that had been stained black. The fixtures were roughened gold, and the floors and the entire back wall behind the shower were a matrix of white and black. The shower was clear glass, open on one side with a rain shower hanging from the ceiling.

Well then.

I set the clean clothes on the counter and rushed to turn the faucet all the way to hot. I peeled off my drenched clothes and left them in a wet heap on the floor as steam began to fill the bathroom.

I stepped into the heated spray, and a moan whimpered free at the feel of the water hitting my skin.

At the chills that raced from the contrast of hot and cold.

I blew out a relieved sigh.

Suddenly…thankful.

So extremely thankful.

I always expected the worst in people, and in the luxury of this shower, I couldn’t help the thought that this guy might actually be nice.

Genuine and good.

I steeled myself against it.

Trusting only made you vulnerable. Put you in a position where you could be hurt.

And I didn’t have the time or space for that.

Besides, I was pretty sure it didn’t take much for that boy outside this room to have girls falling at his feet, and I was even more certain my heart wasn’t up for a fling or even a one-night stand.

But damn, would an orgasm I didn’t give myself feel nice.

Visions flash-fired at that.

Those big, big hands and that flirty mouth and that massive body.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I tried not to imagine him in the next room over, naked and beneath the heated spray.

Nope. Nope. Nope. Do not go there, Salem.

Get clean, get dry, get out.

That was my goal tonight.

But still, I stayed under that relaxing cascade for probably a little too long and let my mind drift a little too far.

But could you blame a girl?

This place was like a fantasy.

The man a fantasy, too.

A wicked fantasy where it’d be so easy to get lost.

Finally, I shut off the shower. I stepped out onto the plush white mat, and I grabbed the fluffy towel. It completely engulfed me when I wrapped it around my body, and there was nothing I could do but take one end and push it to my face and inhale the scent—the same scent that had taken me over when I’d slipped onto his bike and found my nose at the back of his neck.

Citrus and cinnamon and spice.

It smelled like he’d washed his clothes in a late fall night.

I inhaled a little too deeply, committing it to memory, though I doubted much that I’d forget, anyway.

Okay creeper, stop fantasizing about a man who is just trying to be nice.

The internal pep talk worked for all of five seconds, because the moment I pulled his giant shirt over my head, I was sucked right back down into that delusion.

It was warm and scented and god, I felt like I was wrapped by the man. Then I was giggling when I pulled on the giant pair of boxers and looked in the mirror.

I looked ridiculous.

Swamped in fabric that was ten times too big.

Fighting the smile, I rolled the boxers down to my hips, praying they wouldn’t slip off, then I wrapped the towel around my hair, swooped up my wet pile of clothes, and moved back out to the bedroom. The room was only illuminated by the light from the bathroom, though it was clear the two rooms matched.

Nothing but dark, masculine luxury.

A king-sized bed with lavish linens.

I shook my head and forced myself to move, though I slowed in caution when I unlocked the door and peeked out. When I was hit with silence, I tiptoed out into the main space.

The open loft was dark save for the lights under the kitchen cabinets, but what my attention locked on were some paintings hanging on the far wall of the living area that were cast in muted spotlights.

I hadn’t noticed them when I’d first come in, but in the quiet, they seemed like they were the only thing I could see. My feet involuntarily moved that direction.

The images a lure that hooked my heart and mind.

They ran on four big canvases, floor to soaring ceiling. Two were situated on either side of the massive TV sitting on a stand along the wall. The paintings were raw and candid, and my chest clenched around my thudding heart as I stared and tried to make sense of what they represented. I got the unsettled sense I was peering directly into the artist’s soul, right to where his demons thrashed and thrived.

Depictions of ghosts that screamed and howled. Demons that climbed from fiery flames to crawl and ravage the Earth. Vague, obscured faces were woven in, as if they were hidden in the scene, prisoners that didn’t belong but were stuck there, anyway.

Others were stark, haunting beauty. Stars and eternity and lost hope.

Each was breathtakingly tragic.

Earth-shatteringly inspired.

I leaned closer to them.

Enthralled.

Enraptured.

Like I had become a piece of the torment written in the bold strokes of paint.

In the agony weaved in the canvas.

The air thickened and locked in my lungs, and the fine hairs prickled at the nape of my neck.

I froze, somehow trapped. Unable to look or move or act as I felt him approach like a wraith. Like one of the paintings had come to life and closed in from behind.

It covered me whole and caressed me in shadows.

I was right. This man was definitely, definitely dangerous.

His breath hit me on the shoulder where his shirt draped wide. “Did you get warmed up?”

Such an innocuous question, though the rough scrape of his words moved through me like seduction.

“Yes, thank you.”

I found I could barely speak, the severity of the paintings stealing my voice and my sanity. “These are…” I couldn’t even form a coherent thought.

His tone tightened to a grumble. “Just something to fill the empty space.”

A frown filled my brow at his indifference, at the way he shrugged it off, and I wanted to ask him more but was distracted by the slow chuckle that suddenly brushed across my flesh and sent chills racing again. “You look…”

Finally, I found the strength to peek back at him from over my shoulder. Only when I did, my eyes were filled with a wide chest that was…bare and tattooed and oh my god.

I thought I might pass out right there.

I attempted to look away, but his hair that was much longer on top and short on the sides was wet from his shower, and he was wearing this grin on his face that twisted me into a knot of desire.

Not to mention the heat that radiated from his body.

A stroke of that severity thrashed.

I was pretty sure it short-circuited my logic.

“Ridiculous,” he seemed to finally settle on, sitting back on his heels and crossing his arms over his wide, wide chest.

What?

His words knocked me out of the trance.

What a jerk.

I mean, I’d thought so, too, but he didn’t need to bring attention to it.

Gulping, I stumbled away, my chin jerking for the sky, every defense set to high. “I didn’t have a lot of other options, now, did I, unless you wanted me to drip all over your ridiculous floors?”

That smirk edged his mouth.

Damn him.

“Didn’t say I was complainin’, now did I, sweetness?”

I glared at him. What was with this guy?

Really, what was with me ? Why was I all hot and bothered by a man I didn’t know other than the fact he had really great taste in interior decorating, and I’d give my left boob for his guest shower?

Well, that and he’d stopped to help a stranger in a torrential downpour despite clearly being loaded.

I couldn’t tell if he was an asshole toying with me or if he was genuinely kind.

From the flaring in his eyes and that teasing at his sexy mouth?

There was a part of him that was definitely toying with me.

“Besides, you’re still dripping all over my ridiculous floors,” he grumbled with that rough, low voice.

On a gasp, I jerked back to see the wad of clothes I clutched were indeed dripping onto his floor, and a small puddle had gathered at my toes.

“Shit.”

The asshole laughed and stepped forward. “Give me your clothes.”

I held them closer like he was a common thief. A plunderer of sound judgement.

Obsidian eyes glinted and danced, and his laughter floated out of his mouth and surrounded me like a dream. The man leaned forward to whisper in my ear, the words coming from his mouth temptation and a tease. “You’re lucky I’m not asking you for the ones you’re wearing. Stand there a minute longer, and I just might.”

My eyes narrowed as I angled back. “I’ll stab you.”

That time, his laughter boomed. Like I was the ridiculous one.

Reaching out, he snatched the dripping wet ball from my hands. He held it to his chest, and the man waltzed away like doing it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Come on, Wildcat, laundry room is this way.”

Um…what?

“Excuse me?” I scrambled along behind him.

He just chuckled as he moved through the kitchen to a door on the left of it. He opened it and stepped into a laundry room that was as big as the kitchen back at our house.

I froze at the doorway because there was no chance in hell I was getting that close, and he was grinning as he tossed my clothes into the dryer and punched some buttons.

It beeped and spun to life.

“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

That mischief played, the man eyeing me up and down as he edged me out of the laundry room.

Huffing, I crossed my arms tight over my chest.

“What is it, darlin’?”

His voice had gone soft. Like he didn’t have the first clue he had me spun up.

“You don’t think this is a little bit weird?” I waved an erratic hand over my head.

He grinned. “I like weird, if I’m being honest.”

He reached out and gently brushed his fingertips over the scar on my jaw.

It happened so fast that I didn’t realize what he was doing before his hand was already there. As if it were second nature. As if he did it all the time. As if he had the right.

Fire streaked my flesh.

Horror and fear and the fight.

Worse was the flash of comfort that came along with it.

Aghast, I ripped myself back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I wheezed, the words haggard and pained. Panic raced my veins and nearly sent me screaming out the door.

Screw the rain and the storm.

But I forced myself to remain standing.

I wasn’t weak.

I wasn’t weak.

I lifted my chin defiantly like I was daring him to do it again because if he did it this time, I was going to teach him a lesson.

He actually had the nerve to look apologetic, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his low-slung jeans that showed off an expanse of chiseled abs, his hip bones peeking out over the top. The packed, rippled flesh was covered in those designs there, too. Ones that I refused to study even though I was itching to reach out and touch them the same way as he had done to my scar.

Like it was natural.

Right.

God, I kind of hated this man. Hated that he stirred something in me that I couldn’t afford to feel.

“Sorry. That was rude.” It sounded like he meant it.

“I don’t even know you.”

He dragged a hand from his pocket and uneasily roughed it through the longer pieces of his hair. “Know it.”

He hesitated, then added, “But there’s something about you, isn’t there, Salem?” That gaze narrowed and his head pitched to the side, the man studying me as if I were a riddle he was trying to decipher.

Energy shivered and flashed. A blanket of lightning flickered at the windows. A current of it ran the dense air.

The way his eyes caressed my face, it might as well have been his hands. “Is it wrong if I want to get to know you?”

Attraction billowed and boiled. Held in the bare space that seethed between us. A snare to hold me back.

Gravity.

I scrambled around in my brain for the last vestiges of my common sense.

“I have no interest in that.” The words were bitchy and a straight-up lie. “I just want to go home.”

The blunt of the rejection struck across his face before he dropped his gaze to look at the floor.

“Right, okay,” he mumbled, his head bouncing in affront as he stared at his bare feet with his teeth gritting.

Thunder cracked.

With it, the rain intensified to become a violent pounding at the roof.

He looked up at me, and every angle of his face hardened with the promise. “Told you my purpose tonight was gettin’ you to safety.”

I was pretty sure it was here that wasn’t safe. Not with the way my pulse battered and my stomach coiled and this needy interest was taking me over. I swallowed hard. “What does that mean?”

“Means you’re stuck with me tonight. I’ll get you home first thing in the morning.”

“You expect me to stay here? With you?” It was a shriek of disbelief.

“Didn’t mean in my bed, darlin’.” He angled forward again, his breath caressing my skin, sex and seduction rising to the surface. “But that sure would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

The air locked in my lungs, and he was chuckling low and looking at me like he knew the flush of desire he elicited in me. Then the man so casually strode away, overpowering his kitchen, so sexy when he dipped into the black metal refrigerator and grabbed a beer. He twisted the cap and took a long pull, then he lifted it in the air, facing me as he backed away. “Goodnight, Wildcat. Guest room is all yours. Make yourself at home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

My mouth dropped open as he disappeared back through the same double doors, catty-corner to the room where I’d taken a shower.

The room with that giant, luxurious bed where he expected me to sleep.

I stood there in the dark for at least ten minutes, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do, because this was crazy, while the heavens continued to dump and pour and deluge.

Finally, I accepted that I was stuck there tonight and reluctantly crept to the guest bedroom where I shut the door and locked it.

I slipped under the covers and sank into the plush comfort.

I typed out one last message on my phone and prayed at least someone would receive it.

Me

I still can’t get through to anyone. My car broke down, but I ran into a friend who offered me a place to stay for the night. I’ll be home first thing. Please don’t worry, I’ll be fine.

A friend was stretching it.

But they didn’t need to worry even more than they already would be.

Then I relaxed into the warmth beneath the heavy comforter as the exhaustion from the day pulled me under. Lulling me into a dream. Sleep taking me down to the darkest depths of consciousness.

Where everything faded and drifted and took old shape.

Where dreams possessed and nightmares haunted.

Where the here and now and the past intertwined. Where they merged and crossed and slayed.

Where grief whispered and crawled and sucked the life from the air.

Where I had no idea what time it was when I jolted awake. When I heard the muted roar. A roar of pain. A cry of agony.

And I wasn’t sure if it was his or if it was mine.