Unforeseen (Undescribable series Book 6) Read online

  I reach up to switch the light off and cover myself in darkness. My heart pounds in my chest with nervousness, and I try to take a few calming breaths to slow it down. No one ever comes in through the back door. Even Sam and I enter through the front. This is a safe part of town, but that doesn’t mean break-ins don’t occur.

  Standing behind the door and blinking to allow my eyes to adjust, I lift the rolling pin over my head.

  Why didn’t I grab a knife? Too late now.

  I readjust my grip when I hear the click, informing me that they just got the door unlocked.

  It swings open, letting the soft light from the back alley filter in. I see something of a tall figure and then the door just as quickly slams shuts.

  I take a few steps, hoping I’m close enough, and swing.

  I hit something hard and then a deep growl cuts through my heavy breathing. It’s more of a sound of annoyance rather than a growl from pain being inflicted.

  Yep. Definitely needed a knife.

  I swing again, trying to make contact with anything when my upper arm is grabbed and I’m yanked forward. I use that momentum and lift my hands up, shoving them as soon as I make contact with a hard chest. It throws us both backward onto the table that I had been sitting at.

  A muttered ‘fuck’ comes as we both hit the floor. Then there’s a crashing sound as if a chair has fallen over as well. I scramble to get up on my hands and knees to get away, but a big and firm hand wraps around my ankle; yanking me back.

  I flip over onto my back to kick and hit it, but I instantly can’t breathe as the person sits on top of me and catches my wrists. They hold my hands down by my head, and I finally find my voice. I scream.

  Two things happen faster than I thought were possible. My hands slide against the floor as they are roughly shoved above my head and held by one hand, allowing a free hand to slam over my mouth.

  I shake my head quickly, trying to throw them off, my body thrashing underneath them trying to get some sort of advantage. My heart is beating so hard my chest hurts. I dislodge the hand enough to bite down on it. It is instantly gone as I scream out again. “HELP!”

  “Missy?” a powerful voice shouts over mine.

  My body instantly quits moving. No. Please no. Don’t let it be him. Let it be a burglar. The fear is gone, and I’m left with coldness.

  I suck in a deep breath, trying to breathe normal once again. “Missy?” he demands this time.

  I close my eyes tightly. Even though it’s pitch black, I don’t want him to have any way of seeing me. Maybe the floor will swallow me up.

  Tate broke my heart. He shattered it with only one word; mistake. Out of everything he had done in his life, I was the mistake. I am probably the only one-night stand that he considers a mistake. But even though he broke my heart, he still holds all the pieces. Every woman has that one man who she will never forget. Tate is that man for me.

  “Missy?” he snaps, and it has my eyes snapping open.

  “Yes?” I snap back, trying not to concentrate on the fact that he’s still straddling me as I lie on the bakery floor. His hand tightens around my wrist as I respond, and I bite my lip to keep from whimpering. The way his body feels on top of mine, holding me down, is torture in its best form.

  I remember that night in Vegas, the way his body held mine. There was nothing gentle about him. He was strong and demanding, just like I knew he would be. I loved every minute of it. The sex hurt like hell, though; I thought he was going to tear me in half. I was sore for days afterward, but I liked it. It reminded me of the night we shared. Then it went away and I was back to normal. It was the worse feeling in the world. He had walked away from me, it was as if I dreamed it all—the way he spoke to me, the way his body moved with mine, and the way his lips felt on mine.

  Just that thought has me licking my lips.

  “What the fuck are you doing here this late?” his deep voice demands.

  And just like that, I remember who he truly is. A bastard.

  “Get the hell off me, Tate,” I say, struggling to get out from underneath him. Suddenly the room is too small. It’s too dark. I need the lights on and at least five feet between us.

  His breathing picks up once again, and I feel him starting to react from my struggle. I bite the inside of my cheek. Don’t make a noise, Missy. Don’t let him know that he still affects you. That your body still craves him.

  I’ve spent almost a year ignoring him. Even when he tries to talk to me, I ignore it. I’m afraid I’ll let out all my secrets. Then what? It won’t matter to him. He won’t care what I went through or what I felt. He wasn’t there—he walked away—and I’m living with that.

  “Missy, I…” he starts to speak, and my body softens underneath his, but I need to get up. I need to get out of here.

  “Tate.” I try to be firm. To sound like I mean business. I won’t put up with his shit, but it comes out as a whisper.

  I’m so pathetic!

  His free hand wraps around my throat. Not cutting off my air but firmly holding it to the cold, tiled floor. I arch my neck and swallow hard. How can it be so cold underneath me when my body is literally on fire from his voice, his touch?

  I tighten my legs together, trying to ignore the sensation that he elicits from me. He had done the same thing in Vegas. Tate is a man who holds the power. Anyone who sees him knows that power comes from rage and violence. But, nonetheless, the power is there. He is not one of those guys who is soft and gentle—and that turns me on even more.

  I’ve always been the innocent girl. The one who kept her head in a romance novel. I loved the old ones, the ones where the hero was all caveman and protective over his woman. I want to feel that way. I don’t want to be cherished like some princess. I want someone who will show me things that I don’t quite understand. I want to see everything the world has to offer. The good, the bad, the ugly. I want it all. I want him.

  My pulse runs rapidly as his thumb slowly strokes the side of my throat. My chest rises and falls quickly and I hold my legs as tightly together as I can.

  “Please,” I whimper, and his body stiffens. “Let me up.”

  His body relaxes on top of mine and he lets out a chuckle. In the pitch black, it makes him sound like the devil himself. As if I just sold my soul. Isn’t that what I did? I traded a night with him and lost more than I could imagine.

  “No,” he says simply.

  I narrow my eyes in the darkness. “No?” I repeat as I try to move my hands out of his vice-like grip. No luck.

  “I’m going to keep you here at my mercy.” His deep voice has turned soft and seductive. It brings back memories that I can’t suppress.

  His hand runs up my throat before he dips it behind my neck. Grabbing a handful of hair, he pulls my head back. The sound that leaves my throat is of nothing I’ve never made.

  His lips touch my exposed throat and I breathe heavily as my eyes fall shut.

  Oh no. I try to calm my pants and the tingling between my legs. Please don’t do this to me. Not again. I can only handle so much. “Why?” I whisper as I squirm. My body is getting warmer and warmer by the second. He makes it crave things that I know he won’t give me again.

  His thumb makes its way slowly over my parted lips. It takes all my strength to not run my tongue over it and suck it into my mouth. I want to be sexy for him, for him to desire me. “Because you have been ignoring me for months. And I want to know why.”

  “Why?” I snap. His words finally help me feel anything but lust for him. “Don’t pretend to be stupid, Tate,” I huff, now mad at him.

  He sighs heavily. “Missy…” He clears his throat. “I’ve been trying to make it right.”

  I sigh. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.” I try to remove my wrists, but his hand tightens around them. I ignore the feeling inside of my stomach. The feeling of want and desire. Just lean down and kiss me already. “Asking me about the weather or making little comments here and there is not trying to make it right
,” I hiss, mad at him. Mad at myself. But he doesn’t know the truth. I have to pretend that it’s the fact that he walked out on me after that night. But that’s only the beginning of it.

  “What do you want? An apology?” he growls as if just saying ‘I’m sorry’ is hard for him. “I’m…”

  “No,” I interrupt him. I don’t need an apology. I know how he feels about me. No apology could change that. “What I want is for you to get up off me and just to leave me the hell alone.” What I really want is for you to kiss me. Touch me. Remind me what it was like to belong to you. If only it was for one night.

  “Fine.” He releases my wrists and removes his hand from around my neck before he stands up.

  My body instantly feels cold with him no longer on top of me and I try not to whimper at the loss.

  I fail miserably.

  I squint as the light comes on, filling the room. Sitting up, I look up at him standing by the back door. His black shirt fits his large chest. His black leather jacket is on but unzipped. His worn-out jeans ride low on his narrow hips and his signature chain loops across his hip. His chiseled jaw looks tight and his dark blue eyes are hard as they stare down at me.

  He reaches up, running a hand over his unshaven face, and it reminds me of what that stubble felt like against my inner thigh. The scruff scraping across my sensitive skin.

  Tate is dangerous, but that’s what drew me to him to begin with. He’s like the caged animal that will strike at any second. I was raised where people were soft spoken and hid their anger behind fake smiles and polite gestures. Tate says fuck the world. He is what society calls unacceptable; tattoos and a bad attitude. He’s what I call gorgeous.

  I can only explain my need for him as how I’d imagine an addict might feel. One drag of that last cigarette. One more drink of that liquid that makes you throw all inhibition out the window. People beg and steal in order to get their next fix. If I thought it would get me anywhere with him, I would crawl over to him right now and try them all.

  My eyes drop down to the bulge that still remains in his jeans, and I lick my lips. I can clearly see the outline of his penis and my mouth waters for a taste of that perfection.

  “Missy,” he growls, making me jump.

  My eyes lift up to look at his and his jaw is tight, his dark blue eyes narrowing on mine. Then a smirk gracious his lovely lips. “Enjoy looking at my cock?” He arches a dark eyebrow.

  I lower my head letting my blond hair cover my red cheeks. I hate how words like that still affect me. I don’t want to be the young girl who can’t say adult words. I want to be confident and sexy. I want to arouse him by whispering what I want from him. It makes me sick to my stomach that I can’t be that way for him.

  I swallow my lust and stand up off the floor. Smoothing my shirt down and walking over to the back door, I speak. “Goodbye, Tate,” I say as flatly as my voice will allow, which isn’t much.

  He starts to walk toward me and he grabs a hold of the door. I think he’s about to walk out when he slams it shut and then turns to me. Before I can take a breath, I’m shoved back against the wall as he stares down at me.

  “Missy,” he breathes as he lowers his lips to mine and my heart breaks a little bit more.

  He’s drunk!

  I can smell the alcohol on his breath now that he’s this close to my face. Tequila. Nothing he says will matter to me. Nothing he does will mean anything. Tate’s different when he’s drunk.

  He’s into me.

  Come tomorrow, when he’s sober, he’ll try to talk about the weather once again, and I’ll be the only one with the memory of tonight. I’ll be the one with the heartache.

  “Get away from me, Tate,” I say placing my hands on his hard chest and pushing him away. Screw him and screw the emotions that he makes me have.

  He takes a few steps back and chuckles. “You say one thing but mean another.”

  “What are you talking about?” I sigh, ready for this night to be over.

  He steps back to me and reaches up to run his knuckles down my cheek. His knuckles aren’t soft like Braxton’s. They’re rough and he has scars on some from his past. I like the feel of them better. “You tell me to leave. You say you want me to leave you alone.” He opens his hand and slides it to the back of my neck, holding it firmly and it makes my knees buckle. “Yet, when I was on top of you, I could feel how much your body wanted me. And you look at my cock as if you want to taste it.” His deep voice is a rough whisper and his hard, large body is pushing into mine.

  My breath quickens and my stomach knots up. Can he really see how much he still affects me? Can he see that even though he broke my heart, I would still do anything to be with him?

  “You’re drunk,” I say. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He gives me a slow and cocky smile, one that very rarely appears on his beautiful face. Tate is known for his looks of hatred and anger. Not much can make him smile.

  His hand comes up and wraps in my hair. He pulls my head back as he lowers his lips to mine. Without even thinking, I open for him to kiss me but he passes my lips and presses his lips to my ear. “I think about you all the time, Missy.” His hot breath makes me shiver and fight with everything I have not to moan at his confession. “I dream about having you again.” His body presses against mine and I can feel his arousal behind his jeans press into my lower stomach. His free hand runs up my jeans before he cups my ass.

  I take in a deep breath trying to slow my heart rate and get myself under control. I fist my hands down by my sides and close my eyes tightly trying to fight the tears that I feel coming. How can he do this to me? I swallow the lump in my throat. “Stop,” I whisper trying not to reveal the brokenness in my voice.

  “That’s not what you say in my dreams.” His tongue comes out and licks softly before he nibbles on my ear.

  I can’t hold back the whimper this time as my body starts to go limp in his hands. “I miss you, Missy. I miss you so fucking much.” His voice is laced with pain and lust.

  I open my eyes and the tears that I tried to hold back run down my cheeks. My body remembers how it felt to be his that one night and it begs for that chance again. But I won’t tell him that I miss him. I won’t allow myself a moment of weakness. I’ve worked too hard and come so far since that night to tell him how much he destroyed me. How it took me months to get back to feeling like myself again. How much I lost from that one night. I want to, but I won’t. Because he won’t remember it tomorrow. He probably won’t even remember being here tonight.

  “Do you miss me?” he asks now running his nose down my neck.

  I look up at the ceiling trying to get my eyes to dry. “You don’t have to lie to me, Tate.” I clear my throat and ignore his question.

  He pulls back and looks down at me. His hands go to either side of my face, and he wipes the tears away. I wish he could wipe the memories away. I’ve worked so hard to forget them, even invented a whole new me. But they come crashing back like a wave on a shore. Suffocating me. Drowning me until I have no option but to give up the fight and let it take me under.

  “I’m not lying.” He leans down and places a soft kiss on my lips. I stiffen as I refuse to kiss him back. I need air to breathe as I drown, and that’s not what he’s offering right now.

  He pulls back and looks down at me with those dark blue eyes. He slowly runs a hand down my throat and my skin tingles from the notion. “You’re the best mistake I ever made.”

  I close my eyes and a sob racks my body.

  Mistake!

  That’s all I’ll ever be to him.

  “Say something,” he demands softly.

  “What do you want me to say?” I whisper keeping my eyes shut.

  He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into him.

  “I want you to give me something.” He leans down and his lips brush my shoulder. “I want you to tell me that I haven’t lost you.”

  I open my eyes and look up at him. “Haven’t l
ost me?” This time he doesn’t wipe the tears away as they run down my cheeks. He just stares into my eyes as I try to make sense of how my night ended up like this.

  I swallow nervously and then let my thoughts be heard. “You walked away, Tate. You were the one that I lost,” I all but cry out.

  “It’s better that way, Missy. You deserve something better,” he says and his brows crinkle as if it confuses him to have to explain that.

  “Does it even matter what I want?” I ask angrily.

  He shakes his head as he looks down at me.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and wipe the tears from my eyes. “I gave up.” My voice is weak, and it makes me want to scream.

  His eyes darken as he looks at me. “Did you hear me? I said I gave up after Vegas. Why are you here now, Tate?” I beg. When he just stares down at me, I continue. “I can’t do this anymore.” It sounds like I’m begging. Like I’m daring him to tell me that he wants to try. That the thought of being without me is too much for him.

  He stares at me for a few seconds before he takes my heart and rips it out for a second time. “That’s for the best, Missy. We were never meant to be more than what happened in Vegas.”

  How can he touch me the way he just did? How can he say those words to me, yet deny me once again? I want to slap him. I want to throw something at the wall. But instead, I let the tears fall down my cheeks, and I push him away from me. He doesn’t protest as he takes another step back from me. Slowly, I take in a deep breath as he starts to walk to the back door to leave.

  “I’m sorry it’s over,” he whispers, and I try to take a deep breath. I know he means our friendship. But I can’t help but think he means more.

  “It never even started,” I whisper. “You never even gave me a chance to show you that I can be something you might want.” I hate it! I hate him! I’m breaking down like an idiot.

  “Missy…” his voice cracks. “It has nothing to do with you. You’re too good for me. I don’t deserve someone like you.”

  I turn around and look at him. He actually looks like he’s sad. Like he regrets that he broke my heart. “I don’t know what happened to make you see so little of yourself but you’re right.” His body stiffens at my words. I’m tired of being the only one hurting here. “I deserve someone who actually wants me. And believes that I’m worth something more than a one-night stand.”