Chapter Two.
For the past three weeks, Avery had walked around in a daze. Every time she saw a tall, blond man from the back, she fought the urge to run up and hug him. Or punch him.
It was never him, anyway. And while she hadn't called any of the others about Gunner's disappearance, she'd finally worked up the courage to visit someone who might be able to give her insight.
Being able and being willing were two very different things and she'd been bracing for a rejection on the entire walk over, which was why she hesitated outside the restaurant. It was quiet-the dinner rush hadn't started yet, and she knew she had to take advantage of that.
The first time Gunner brought her here, she'd been a fugitive, sent by Dare to secure Gunner's help. She hadn't been back since, because there hadn't been time for restaurants when she'd been fighting for her life.
Now she saw the waitress she was looking for. Billie Jean was one of Gunner's three ex-wives, although Avery didn't know where in the lineup she fell. Billie Jean spotted her and ambled over, cracking her gum.
She was pretty. Loud, from what Avery remembered. And she'd looked at Gunner that night as though she still loved him.
Avery could finally relate to her.
"We're not serving for another half hour," Billie Jean told her. The tight black shirt across her chest spelled the name of the restaurant in bold white letters. Her hair was piled onto her head, some of the loose curls falling down. She was maybe a couple of years older than Avery.
"I'll wait," Avery said.
"Suit yourself." Billie Jean turned to walk away and Avery couldn't make her voice work to stop her. But then Billie Jean couldn't resist asking, "Where's Gunner? You chase him away?"
Billie Jean tried to look tough and unconcerned as she spoke, and failed miserably on both counts.
"I don't know," Avery said, slumped into the booth and waited for the woman she'd once threatened to laugh, to say she'd gotten what was coming to her.
Instead, she slid in across from Avery. "He got to you."
"I guess you know the feeling."
"Chere, you have no idea." She called over her shoulder, "Lenny, bring us two beers."
"Whatta I look like, a waitress?" Lenny asked.
"You will when I rip your balls off," she said in a falsely sweet tone before turning her attention back to Avery. "He was into you."
"Nice of you to say, Billie Jean."
"Call me Billie. And he drew you," she said, as if Avery was supposed to know what that meant. "That night you were here, he drew your picture on the menu."
Avery recalled that. She'd been wearing a cap pulled low, because she hadn't wanted to be recognized. Hours later, Gunner had helped cut and dye her hair.
And hours after that, you were kissing Key. "He drew my picture a lot."
But he'd never let her keep any. She'd see them drawn among various tattoos he was sketching, or mixed into other scratches of pictures on the paper he always had with him. She figured drawing was his nervous habit, although he never seemed nervous to her at all.
Billie shook her head. "You really don't know a lot about him, do you?"
"No."
The woman had been expecting a challenge, not the deflated answer she'd received. It softened her features for the moment. When Lenny put the beers down, still grumbling, Billie clinked the neck of her bottle against Avery's, like a fragile peace offering before both women took healthy swigs.
Finally, Billie said, "Look, Gunner never drew me. Not his other two ex-wives either. Never gave an explanation, but hey, he's not with any of us."
"And he's not with me either."
"You sure?"
"He never even kissed me." She left out the part about her humiliating attempt.
The look on Billie's face told the story. "He loves you, chere. Make no mistake of that."
"Where would he go?"
Billie's face twisted. "When Gunner goes, he just goes. I think he had a secret life I didn't know about-one that was always more important than me."
"Are all his exes here?"
"Three of us are. Well, the first is too, but she's passed on."
"The first?"
The ghost of a smile twisted Billie's lips. "You didn't know. We're not supposed to. He never talked about her. It's one of those stories that starts as a rumor and gets passed around, although the details are really sketchy and change depending on who's doing the telling. But the common thread was that she was the one true love of his life. We all thought we'd be the next, but . . ." She spread her fingers on the table in front of her and stared down at the wedding band. "I still wear it. I think it brings me good luck, as crazy as that sounds."
"It doesn't sound crazy at all," Avery whispered. "Will you tell me about the first one? Everything and anything you know?"
Billie sighed, pointed to the beers. "You're going to need more of these."
Four hours, several beers and a full dinner later, Avery said good-bye to Billie and decided to walk back to the apartment she'd rented in this quarter to clear her head. She only had a couple of days left before the new owner took possession of Gunner's place, and she still had some packing up to do there. But she hadn't been able to bring herself to sleep there since the day he'd left. Too many ghosts.
Her conversation with Billie spun through her mind as she clipped along the darkened streets, the revelers just starting to come out for the night.
She'd forgotten it was a Saturday. Date night, she thought bitterly, as men and women-and men and men-walked by her, hand in hand. She stuffed her own hands into the pockets of her jeans and tried to picture a younger Gunner, running around New Orleans.
The rumors were plentiful, the gist too similar to be denied despite a few disparities. Gunner had been married young-most mentioned nineteen-and he'd come home one night and found his young wife had been murdered while he'd been gone.
"Some people say it happened here, in Louisiana," Billie had said. "But I don't think that's true at all. How could he come back here and no one recognize him?"
Because people change, Avery thought, but she hadn't said it out loud. Thought about the tattoos covering him. That protective armor would've taken years, was still a work in progress. But a nineteen-year-old could turn into a warrior with the right training. Gunner had certainly had more than his share.
And more than his share of tragedy. She'd thought having Richard Powell as a father was the worst thing that could've happened to him. Now she realized that might've only been the beginning, because Billie had also shared the information that the police had liked Gunner for the killing. Billie refused to believe that-Avery couldn't either, but she was still furious that he would leave instead of confiding in her.
"Dammit, Gunner," she bit out. A random couple turned to look at her and she couldn't help smiling back at them, especially liking when they scurried off.
She was more than halfway home when she had a suspicion she was being followed. With a block to go, she was sure of it. She wound around the streets several more times, popping in and out of shops, going out back doors and finally sliding into her building past a man headed out with luggage who held the door for her.
Perfect. She hit the stairs instead of the elevator, went inside and breathed a sigh of relief when the buzz of the alarm greeted her. She turned it off as she locked up behind her. She leaned against the wall for a brief moment, listening to see if she heard footsteps.
Nothing.
"You are extra paranoid tonight," she chided herself. She ran her hands through her hair, stopping to massage her temples. She'd pay for those few drinks tonight. Time for ibuprofen and sleep.
She stripped her shirt off on the way to the bathroom. She'd spilled hot sauce on it. She kicked off her shoes too, and stopped, because a shiver went through her body.
She turned around quickly, but no one was there. Because no one could be there. The place was locked down tight. It was all the stories from Billie. The superstitions she'd talked about too. The lore and the bayous were enough to make anyone a little loopy.
She shimmied out of her jeans, went into the bathroom, the tile cool under her feet. She leaned over the bathroom sink to splash cold water on her face. She held on to the sides of the sink after she did so, letting the water run off her face, down her neck. She splashed the water a few more times, grabbed the towel and blotted herself dry.
When she looked into her reflection in the mirror, Gunner was standing behind her.
Gunner.
Here.
Gunner.
Following you.
Her mind raced, but anger was the strongest emotion. She grappled for something to hit him with, but he was fast. Strong. He'd pinned her body to his, even as she struggled.
"That was you behind me."
"You need to learn better E&E." God, his voice sounded deeper, the drawl thicker, sliding across her skin like a caress.
She had it bad, dammit. And she didn't want to. "I don't need to learn anything from you."
His laugh vibrated through her. She'd spent the past weeks wavering between hating him and missing him, and now that she had him, she didn't know what the hell to do with him.
He was obviously more prepared, seemed to know exactly what to do with her. At least, what he wanted to do. His hand was on her breast and she was conscious of being half naked in front of him in a way she had never been.
Her nipple hardened under his simple touch and he knew, because he rubbed his palm against it lightly while she tried to pretend it didn't affect her. "Let me go."
"Just remember, this is what you wanted," he murmured, moved his hand from her breast to her tattoo. "Am I wrong?"
She couldn't breathe. His hands were like ribbons of fire on her skin. She closed her eyes because the room was spinning. Gunner's arms weren't enough to steady her or stop that. She wanted to ask, What do you want? but she didn't, not when he carried her into the bedroom and placed her on the mattress.
He proceeded to tie her arms above her head and to the headboard while she watched, unsure of what he would do next.
He stared down at her before he pulled his KA-BAR knife out of his pocket, ran the cold edge of it over her skin and then slit the front of her bra open.
"Oh, fuck," she breathed. His lips quirked a little, and he did the same to her underwear. And she was naked in front of him, completely, utterly stripped in a way she'd never been before.
His eyes just took her in and there was nothing she could do but let him. She wanted to ask him why he'd pushed her away when she'd kissed him, but she didn't.
And then his mouth was on hers and she couldn't think any longer. His tongue played along the seam of her lips before he became more demanding. When she opened her mouth to him, his tongue licked hers. It was sensual. Hot. Exactly the way she'd imagined it would be. It made up for him standing like stone when she'd kissed him.
God, she'd missed him. And all of this she'd missed out on while she'd been living in his place, eating his food, sharing his weapons. She hadn't known exactly what she'd wanted, besides this man. But she'd assumed him unattainable.
She'd assumed so wrong, if his kiss was any indication of his feelings. And she wanted to touch him so badly, strained her wrists against the T-shirt ties. But he pulled back, shook his head and then his mouth was on her breast, tugging at her nipple. His hand on her bottom, his fingers stroking the wetness between her legs, and she was rubbing against him instead of pushing him away, cursing him, telling him that he'd ruined her.
He'd given her no quarter. She was bared to him and all she could do was whimper at the strokes of his fingers. She stopped thinking and just let it happen. If this was all the time she'd have with Gunner, she'd make it her best memory. Burn it into her brain.
"Spread your legs for me," he murmured. She did, and his hand moved between her thighs, stroking her. Between the beer and Gunner himself, she was completely drunk. Her body soared. She would open for him, do anything he asked of her. Because he'd come back. For her.
She was sure of it.
But he was angry too. Knew she'd been asking questions. Or maybe he was angry that he'd recanted and come back to see her.
She would let him lead. Do what he asked.
His finger brushed her bare cleft and she moaned, trapped between his body and the mattress. There was no place to go. No place she'd rather be.
"I want to fuck you nine ways from Sunday," he growled.
"Only nine?"
"You're pushing your luck, Avery."
She was actually hoping, praying, it had finally run out if it meant Gunner making love to her.
"Like that, baby?" He circled her clit, light pressure and then heavier until she was moving her hips to his rhythm. She could come from that alone. She leaned up and bit his shoulder a little and he shuddered above her. She heard him groan her name and she smiled against his skin.
"Need to taste you," he told her, and she nodded as his head dipped between her legs, put her thighs on his shoulders and ordered, "Watch me."
Oh, God, oh God . . . he licked her cleft, his gaze daring her to look away. She didn't, couldn't. He was in total control, something she'd never thought she'd want in any way, shape or form.
She wanted. He licked her slowly, maddeningly so. Grabbed her hips and stopped her when she tried to get him to increase the pressure. But he was intent on torturing her, his blue eyes grabbing hold of her, the orgasm building so slowly in her womb that she swore she couldn't take it.
"Gunner . . . please . . ."
She could tell he was smiling, and then he plunged his tongue into her, burying himself in her sex. He tongued her sex, stopping to press her clit hard. She nearly jumped off the bed, clutched the air and then fisted her hands as she tugged at the binding around her wrists.
He wasn't stopping. Held her hips, buried his mouth against her sex and took her more thoroughly than any man ever had.
Her body arched, skin goose-bumped as she tried to make the sensations last. But her belly tightened, her womb constricting, and the orgasm hit her like a freight train. She didn't break his gaze as she climaxed against his mouth, and he didn't stop licking her, even when she grew too sensitive and tried to pull away.
She was climbing toward another orgasm. She stopped resisting, let her body do what it wanted to. Its natural inclination was to climax again, far more quickly than she'd ever thought possible. He played with her nipples as he continued to pleasure her, his tongue deep in her, his fingers alternately flicking and squeezing the sensitive peaks. She watched the pink nipples roll in his tanned fingers, his hands so big they covered her breasts . . . his eyes watching her from between her legs as he gently brought her down from the second orgasm that made her cry out his name in a frantic chant.
"Taste so freakin' sweet, Avery . . . knew you would," he murmured against her neck as he entered her. "Could stay between your legs all damned night, just tasting you."
Gunner kissed his way up her rib cage, tracing the ink with his tongue. Marking her again.