Текст книги "Wanted"

Автор книги: J. Kenner

Соавторы: J. Kenner
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

six

His eyes went dark, and I was afraid that I’d pushed him too far. That he was going to blink, and then we’d suddenly be just two people on a dance floor in a sleazy bar without this heat, this tug, pulling us together.

Then his hands cupped the back of my neck and he pulled me in closer. I gasped, breathing in the scent of arousal, his and my own. He bent his head and a shudder cut through me as he nipped, just a little too hard, at my earlobe.

“I swear to god, Angie, you’re like Kryptonite—you fucking break me.” He pulled back, moving his hands to either side of my head, his fingers twining through my hair as he held me just a little too tight, keeping me completely locked in his grasp.

I was breathing hard, my body primed. My lips parted ever so slightly and I tried to lean in, drawn like a magnet to the energy of this man. He held me fast, though, and I knew in that moment that whatever edge I thought I held over Evan Black was a tenuous thing. He could turn the tables on me whenever he wanted to. Hell yes, he was dangerous. And right then, he was mine.

“I’ve done a lot of fucked up shit,” he said. “But this—right here, right now—this may be the worst.”

I tried to shake my head, but he still held firm. “I don’t believe that,” I said.

“I do.” He slid one hand around to cup the back of my head, keeping me steady as he moved his other hand so that his thumb could brush gently over my lower lip. Automatically, I opened my mouth, my breath coming in soft, shuddering gasps even as a shiver ran through my entire body. There was no hiding anything from him now, and I didn’t want to. The air between us was thick with heat and lust, and though I stood fully clothed in front of him, I’d never felt more exposed in my life than I did in that moment.

The edge of his thumb continued to torment my lip. He eased it inside my mouth, just barely, and though some tiny, rebellious part of me wanted to play it cool, there was no way that was going to happen. I closed my lips around him, my tongue tasting, my lips sucking.

I shut my eyes, hyperaware of the heaviness in my breasts and the demanding throbbing in my cunt. I moaned, not quite able to believe that I could be this turned on when the only physical contact between us was his thumb in my mouth and his hand in my hair.

“If you knew what I wanted to do with you right now, you’d run.” His voice was low and edgy and as sharp as a blade, and it cut right through me, leaving me wide open and vulnerable.

I tried to respond but couldn’t seem to make sounds. With supreme willpower, I tried again, and somehow managed to form words. “I’m not running.”

His eyes were dark. Stormy. And I could see the battle raging across his features. His face was cast in shadows, giving him an even more dangerous appearance, and for just a moment I wasn’t certain if I wanted him to win the battle, or lose it.

Then it didn’t matter, because his fingers tightened in my hair, pulling me roughly to him in the split second before his mouth captured mine. Around us, other dancers hooted and whistled, but I barely heard them over the rush of blood pounding in my ears.

I parted my lips, and his tongue swept into my mouth, claiming me. He tasted decadent, like the finest of chocolates, the headiest of liquors. I clutched tight to him, my fingers lost in the silky waves of his hair, my body pressed against him. I felt lighter than air, and it was a good thing he held me so tight, because if he had let go I would probably have floated all the way up to the ceiling.

Our kiss was hard and wild, nipping and teasing. I tasted blood and didn’t care. I wanted to feel everything, to give everything. To take everything. I felt frantic, as if I needed it all—every bit of his touch, his emotion, his being—because if I stopped or blinked or backed off, it might all go away. This might turn out to be a dream. A mistake. A fantasy.

I didn’t think that I could handle that. He was like a drug, and now that I’d tasted him, I knew that I could never give him up.

He pulled away from me then, his breath hard and shallow. I whimpered in protest, terrified that this was it. But my fear dissipated when I looked into his eyes. We weren’t stopping. Hell, if I went by the fire I saw burning in his eyes, I didn’t think we’d ever stop.

For a breathless eternity we just stared at each other, and I imagined getting drawn into him, lost in his eyes. Melding and merging and never doing without this feeling again. My heart was pounding so hard I was certain that everyone could see the movement of my dress in time with my pulse. I wanted to beg for him to touch me again, to kiss me again, but at the same time I didn’t want him to stop looking at me, because under Evan’s gaze I felt more alive and real and solid than I had in years.

I didn’t know if we stood like that for hours or seconds. I was deaf to the music, blind to the crowd. There was only Evan, watching me. Wanting me.

He broke first, taking my hand and tugging me impatiently across the dance floor. I went willingly, following him down a dark hallway to a propped open fire door. He kicked it all the way open, then tugged me outside into a dimly lit alley. Immediately, I was accosted by the stench of stale beer and french fries, but I really didn’t care. Alley or five-star hotel, it didn’t matter to me. All I wanted was this man. This moment. All I wanted was to surrender.

I remembered my frustration with Kevin, but that wasn’t a problem with Evan. He took what he wanted, giving what I needed. Power, control, intensity.

In one motion, he had me back against the alley wall, his arms caging me.

“Dear god, Angie. You’re beautiful.”

“Evan.” That single word was all I could manage. The only sound I could push out past the swarm of emotions clogging my throat.

“Do you have any idea how long I—”

“What?” I demanded when he cut himself short. My word was a whisper, a plea. Hell, it was a prayer.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and fear shot through me, making me cold. “Christ, I’m so damn sorry.”

I reached out and clutched his T-shirt, refusing to let him walk away. It was only when I did that I realized that he wasn’t walking and the apology wasn’t meant for me. Or maybe it was. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care, because whatever he was doing or apologizing for or thinking about, it had nothing to do with leaving. I figured that out from the hard and fast way his mouth came down on mine, the way his knee edged between my legs. The way his proximity thickened the air between us, making it warm and liquid and sensual and safe.

He broke the kiss long enough to meet my eyes. His were dark with passion. Mine, I’m sure, were wide with wonder and delight.

I opened my mouth to speak, though I didn’t know what I intended to say.

He shook his head, then brushed a soft kiss over my lips. “Don’t talk. Don’t even think.”

I shook my head, then nodded, then shook it again. Don’t think? Hell, I couldn’t think. Not then, and certainly not when his lips brushed my temple and his hand closed over my breast. Then, all I could do was gasp.

His thumb brushed over my nipple, now hard behind my bra. What the hell had I been thinking? I should have burned the thing. Worn lace. Worn nothing at all.

“Damn clothes,” he murmured, and I almost laughed with delight at how in sync our thoughts were. That bubble of laughter, however, soon faded in the wake of the words that followed. That smooth masculine voice telling me he wanted to touch me, to drag his teeth over my nipples, to tug my skirt up and my panties down so that his fingers could cup and stroke me.

No, it wasn’t laughter that bubbled inside me anymore. Instead, it was molten lava. Hot. Thick. I wanted to bathe in it. To melt under his touch. To let him take me wherever he wanted to go.

I sighed with pleasure, my hips shifting in response to his words. My back arching in silent demand for more of his touch. More of him.

“Evan,” I said again, only this time it wasn’t a name, it was a plea. Hell, it was a command.

His fingers twined in my hair, and he tugged, forcing me to tilt my head back and look at his face. I felt drugged and woozy, all the more so when I looked at the deep gray of his eyes, soft with lust.

“Angie,” he said, his voice flat and almost sad. I saw the lust fade from his eyes, replaced by something hot and hard. Before I even had time to fully process this change in him, he released my hair and smacked the brick wall behind me. I jumped, surprised and confused by this change in him.

“Goddammit,” he said. And then, more gently, “God, I’m an asshole.”

I shook my head, denying his words and his actions. I didn’t want him to stop, and I didn’t understand why he was.

No, that’s not true. I understood it—but I just wanted it to go away. The world around us. Promises. Loyalties. They had no place between us. Not now. How could they, when the fire that burned between us would render everything else to ashes?

“Tell me.” My voice was low. Breathy, but determined. “You said if I knew what you wanted, I’d run. So tell me, dammit, because I’m not running yet.”

“Tell you?” he repeated, his voice rough and uneven, as if he wanted to hold back but couldn’t. “Tell you how I want to strip you bare? How I want your breasts to fill my hands, your nipples pinched between my fingertips until you cry out in pleasure and in pain?”

I shuddered, my nipples tightening simply from the promise of his words.

“Or should I tell you how I want to feel the sting of my bare hand on your naked ass until your cheeks are red and your cunt glistens.” He leaned in closer, his whisper ragged at my ear. “I want you naked, Angie. Naked and bound and wet for me. I want your legs wide and your body exposed. I want to see you. Hell, I want to feast on you. I want my mouth on you, my tongue driving you mad. I don’t want you to know a goddamn thing except me and the pleasure I bring you. And I want to watch the way your eyes go bright when I finally let you come.”

I was breathing hard, my panties soaked, my thighs damp and trembling. His words shocked me, yes. But they also turned me on.

I leaned back, increasing the distance between us infinitesimally, but only because I had no choice. It was either find support against the rough brick wall or collapse to the ground, my body no longer quite able to hold me upright.

The second I edged back though, a shadow crossed his face. “Like I said, I’m an asshole.”

Despite the fact that he’d completely undone me—despite the fact that every bone, muscle, and tendon in my body had turned to jelly—I somehow managed the smallest shake of my head and the tiniest noise. “No.”

I drew in a gasping breath, then said more forcefully, “No. I’m not running. I’m not going anywhere.” I licked my suddenly dry lips and glanced down at the ground, embarrassment overtaking me. But not enough to cripple me. Not even close.

Traffic rushed by at the end of the alley and the pulse of music filtered through the thick walls of the club. None of that noise penetrated, though. The alley seemed still and quiet, as if the world had quit turning and everything—my existence, Evan’s, the whole damn universe—was stuck in limbo until I spoke again.

I steeled my shoulders. “Everything you just said … I—I want it, too.”

My cheeks were so hot I was certain they must be flashing as red as neon, and I kept my eyes down, afraid that if I looked up and saw him I might spontaneously combust.

“Angie. Oh, Jesus, Angie.” He took my head in his hands, his fingers sliding into my thick tangle of hair as he tilted my face up to see his. “You completely unwind me.” There was such intensity in his voice that it sounded almost painful, and the tenor of his desire shook me to the core. “Tell me you want me. Tell me you want this.” The words were rough and urgent. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you,” I said, the words sounding inadequate against the complexity of the emotions behind them.

For a moment, he held my gaze, as if he was searching my face for some sort of deception. I didn’t flinch. I knew what he saw in me—himself, reflected right back.

He stroked my cheek with the pad of his thumb, the sweetness of the gesture in stark contrast to the rawness of all the things he’d said he wanted to do with me. But somehow, that simple touch made me melt even more.

He was everything I’d ever wanted. Everything I needed. Hell, he was more than I could have imagined. And in that moment, I knew I would do anything to keep him there with me.

“I want you,” I repeated. “I want this.”

“This?” he repeated, then leaned in to brush a trail of feather-soft kisses down my neck, then along my collarbone. His touch was lighter than air, and yet it pounded through me like the steady, rhythmic thrum of a bass drum building to a crescendo.

“Or maybe this?” He ran his hands down my arms, then twined our fingers together. He pressed his body tight against me as his mouth sought mine, his tongue demanding entrance as he thrust our arms out to the side as if readying to take flight. He deepened the kiss, exploring with his tongue, delighting me with his teeth, nibbling on my lips. And as he did, he slowly maneuvered our arms up until mine were completely above my head and he gently released his fingers from mine. “Or maybe this is what you want,” he said, manipulating my hands so that I was clutching my own wrist above my head.

“Evan, I—”

“No.” He brushed his lips over my ear, his voice so low I had to strain to hear him. “No talking. No moving. The arms stay up, the hands together. Nod if you understand me.”

I licked my lips.

“Nod,” he repeated.

I nodded, so lost in him that if he’d told me to strip naked and spread my legs right then, I think I would have done it, and eagerly. I was that much in thrall to him.

Yeah, he was dangerous all right—but damn me, it was that danger that I craved.

“Good girl,” he said, then brushed the gentlest of kisses over my lips. “And I think we’ve found what you want,” he added, closing his hands over mine.

I drew in a shuddering breath, because he was right. He had me trapped—maybe not by reality, but by the promise of my own obedience. The result was the same. I was desperately, hopelessly turned on.

“You like this,” he said. “You’re open to me—open to the world. Down and dirty with me in an alley where anything could happen.” Once again, he leaned in to whisper. Once again, I was struck by how well he knew me. “This excites you, doesn’t it? Not knowing where we’re going next. What’s going to happen. Who might turn that corner. Not knowing if I’m going to kiss you or fuck you.” He paused, and his next words made me moan aloud. “I’ll give you a hint, Angie. I’m going to do both.”

I hadn’t noticed when he’d removed one of his hands from where he gripped mine, but I noticed now that he was trailing his fingers up my thigh, slowly lifting the hem of my skirt as his hand rose higher and higher.

I whimpered a little, but the hand on mine held fast, and he shook his head. One tiny motion. No.

I closed my eyes and surrendered to both the unspoken command and to my own overpowering need to revel in the exhilaration of this moment. He had me pinned against the wall, held in place by his large hand cupped around my wrists. His body was so close to mine I could feel his heat. And his hand was rising higher and higher toward my now-soaked panties, my throbbing clit, and my cunt that was slick with arousal.

Every scrap of reason inside me was screaming that I needed to open my eyes and tell him no. That I needed to walk away. That this was a bad idea and that I knew better and hadn’t I told myself over and over that it was a bad idea to let myself go wild? That nothing good ever came of it.

That I would regret it in the morning.

But I didn’t regret it then. Not one little bit.

I shifted my stance and spread my legs wider—and I was rewarded by his low, sensual growl of approval. Slowly, his fingertip traced the edge of my panties, easing down the side of the V that covered my pubic bone. I whimpered as he teased me mercilessly, his finger grazing over silk and elastic, the edge of his skin barely brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

“Frustrated, beautiful?” he murmured.

My head was back, my breathing fast. “Are you insane?” In my head, I was screaming. In real life, I could barely formulate words. “Jesus, Evan. Please.”

He spread his fingers so that now he was teasing the indention at the juncture of both my thighs, his strokes light but firm. And never, ever touching the soft flesh beneath the silk or brushing over my tight, demanding clit.

I struggled to pull my hands free, desperate to finish what he had started. But he held me fast, and I wanted to shout curses, to make demands, to drop down on my knees and beg. But it was all I could do to draw breath as my body shuddered, every nerve, every sensation pooled between my legs in anticipation of a touch that he seemed determined not to give me.

“Please, what?” he asked, as I dragged my teeth over my lower lip.

“Please,” I repeated. “Please everything.”

His low, satisfied chuckle washed over me, teasing my skin with as much sensuality as if he were trailing a feather over me.

“Touch me,” I demanded.

He bent closer so that his breath tickled my cheek. “I am touching you.”

I wiggled my hips in unspoken demand. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said. “But I want to hear you say it.” He drew his tongue up the edge of my ear, and I bit down on my lip for fear that if I didn’t I would cry out in both pleasure and frustration.

“I want—” I swallowed and tried again. “I want you inside my panties.”

To his credit, he complied, and I sighed with pleasure as his fingers stroked my slick, swollen flesh. I was completely bare, having recently discovered Brazilian waxes, and the way his finger slid over my wet flesh was driving me completely insane.

He didn’t, however, touch my clit, and so I had no relief for the desperate, pounding growing need that was building inside me.

I moved my hips, trying without words to let him know exactly what I wanted.

“Demanding thing, aren’t you?” he teased.

“Dammit, Evan, you’re being exceptionally mean.”

“Maybe.” He stroked his finger lightly over my clit, and my entire body lit up. “But I’m damn sure enjoying myself.” He slipped his fingers inside me, and I gasped as my muscles tightened around him, drawing him in. “That’s it, baby. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to be fucked.”

I clenched my hands into fists, managing to gather enough self-possession to say, “You’re just figuring that out?”

He laughed softly, but whatever amusement I’d felt in the wake of my comment faded under the slow, rhythmic assault of his hands upon my body, sliding deeper and deeper, leaving me breathless and anxious and so very, very close.

When he drew his hand free, I actually whimpered, and when he slid his fingertip—wet with my arousal—between my lips, I moaned and took him in, closing my eyes as I sucked and teased, imagining it was his cock in my mouth.

“Dear god, that’s hot,” he whispered. He moved closer, and I felt the press of his erection against my belly, tight and hard beneath the denim of his jeans. “I want you, Angie. I want to yank your skirt up and rip these damn panties off. I want to bury myself inside you and watch your face while you come.”

I said nothing, only drew him in deeper and relished the soft sound of his own, responsive groan.

“But not here—not in an alley.” He drew his finger from my mouth, and my eyes fluttered open. “I’m taking you home. I’m going to fuck you, Angie, but I’m going to do it properly. Say yes, baby.”

I nodded.

“I want to hear it.”

Stupidly, I nodded again. “Yes,” I said, after fighting to regain the power of thought.

“Good girl.” He gave me a moment to recover the ability to walk, then led me toward the street where, I presumed, he’d parked.

We’d only taken two steps toward the intersection of the alley and the street when a shadow fell across the sidewalk, followed quickly by a form that I recognized. Bruiser.

A second guy flanked him, tall and lean, with the kind of sauntering walk that told the world he could beat the crap out of just about anyone.

A shock of panic—hard and fast and cold—shot through me. How could this have happened? I never take my guard down when I’m outside, and sure as hell not in a dark alley. And yet I’d been totally unaware of everything. I’d seen nothing, heard nothing, noticed nothing. From the moment we exited the club, there had been only Evan. I’d let myself go with him—I’d let myself fly—and everything had gone to hell. Fuck.

“He the one that horned in on your girl?” the lean guy asked.

“My girl? More like my slut.” Bruiser aimed his beady eyes at me. “What would your mamma say about you doing the nasty in a dark alley with that son of a bitch?”

“Fuck you,” I snapped. Or, at least, I tried to. Instead, the words stuck in my throat, trapped there when I spied the glint of the knife in Bruiser’s hand. A chill crept over my entire body, icy fingers trailing up my spine. I sucked in air, and tasted salt water. I closed my eyes, and saw blood.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

I didn’t realize that I’d taken a step backward until I felt Evan’s hand closing tight around mine, locking me in place. I froze, taking shallow breaths, trying to concentrate only on the reassuring feel of his hold upon me.

He was order to my chaos, calm to my storm. Fear might have me tight in its grip, but Evan slipped out of its fist like butter. The alley—hell, the whole damn situation—was his to command.

“I think you owe the lady an apology,” he said smoothly.

“Fuck you.”

“I’d really rather not,” Evan said. “Now get the hell out of my way.” His voice was hard, his manner equally so. He took a single step toward them, forcing me to take a corresponding one. I bit my lower lip, then tasted blood. I saw Bruiser’s mouth moving, but I couldn’t make out the words. Though I knew I was looking at this dark Chicago alley, what I saw was the barnacled posts beneath the pier. What I heard was the crash of the ocean against the beach. It was as if I’d fallen into one of my dreams, and I couldn’t fight my way out of the nightmare.

Then Bruiser lunged, leading with the knife, and the sharp pierce of a scream ripped me back into reality. It took a second before I realized that it was my scream, and that in that minuscule amount of time, Evan had released my hand, raised his arm, and managed to block the oncoming knife.

“Shit, Chris!” the lean guy shouted as Evan twisted Chris-the-Bruiser’s arm behind his back and wrested the knife free.

“Motherfucker!” Chris snarled, but he didn’t struggle, and from where I stood I could see why—considering Evan’s grip, if Chris even breathed wrong, his arm was going to snap.

“You fucked up bad, pretty boy,” the lean guy spat, already in motion with his own knife tight in his hand.

In the kind of move that Hollywood directors probably spent weeks choreographing, Evan shoved Chris aside, spun toward the lean guy, knocked his knife arm out of the way, then thrust the tip of the knife he’d taken off Chris into the flesh at the base of the lean guy’s throat. Chris cursed and sprinted down the alley, leaving his buddy to Evan’s mercy.

Evan didn’t even spare him a glance, his attention focused entirely on the lean guy with the knife still twitching in his hand. “Give me a reason,” Evan said. “Give me just one reason, and I’ll slice through you like butter.”

“Fuck you.”

“Wrong reason.” In a move too fast for me to see how it happened, Evan yanked the guy into a clench, his face a wash of rage. Now the length of his blade was pressed to the lean guy’s throat. I saw a single drop of blood trail down his neck. “All I have to do is flick my wrist,” Evan whispered, the voice so soft and menacing it seemed to be inside my head instead of spoken.

The guy’s eyes were squeezed tight, and the knife he still held clattered to the pavement. I caught the pungent scent of urine and knew that he’d wet himself.

I heard a soft noise, like the cry of a child. At first I thought it came from the man in Evan’s arms. Then I realized it came from me.

I saw Evan’s muscles stiffen, saw the shift of expressions on his face, the way he brought the rage down. The way his chest rose and fell as he looked at me and gathered himself. Slowly—very slowly—he drew the knife away, and I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed quiet. The thought should have terrified me. It didn’t. This was Evan, and like Jahn, he’d do whatever it took to protect me.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Evan said, his voice like the low roll of thunder.

The guy didn’t waste any time. He took off down the alley, practically tripping over himself in the process.

Slowly, Evan moved to the trash bin and tossed the knife in. Then he came toward me, moving gingerly, as if I were a wounded animal. I didn’t understand the reason for his tentative approach until he crouched in front of me. Only then did I realize that I’d slid to the ground, my knees pulled tight to my chest.

“Hey,” he said, his voice as gentle as I’d ever heard it. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He reached out and stroked my hair. “They’ve gone. They’re not going to hurt me, and I’d kill them before I’d let them hurt you.”

I nodded, thankful for his touch. The pitching, tossing waves inside me began to settle into soft, undulating swells.

I reached out a hand for him to help me up, but he shook his head. “No. I’ve got you.”

Before I could protest, he had his arms under my legs and behind my back. I thought I should protest, but I couldn’t quite work up the desire. Instead, I curled against him, letting his steady strength soothe the rawness of my memories.

I have no idea where it came from, but the moment we emerged from the alley onto the street, a familiar-looking black Lexus pulled to the curb. A burly man with arms as thick as my thighs hurried out and opened the back door for Evan, who moved gingerly as he placed me on the soft leather.

“Don’t go,” I whispered, as the icy prickles and hard knots of fear began to return.

“Never,” he said, as he slid in beside me. And then I was in his arms again, safe and warm. I curled up next to him, my eyes closed. I heard the door slam, then the sound of Evan’s palm against the back of the front seat. A signal to go, I realized, because the next thing I felt was motion and power as the Lexus pulled out onto the street.

Evan said nothing, and for that I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to explain. I didn’t even want to be reassured. All I wanted was for him to hold me, and he did that, his arm around me, his fingers idly stroking my upper arm. My head rested on his shoulder, and though I thought I felt his lips brush over my hair, I couldn’t be sure, as I didn’t have the strength to lift my head and look at him.

I was tired. My body drained, my muscles limp. Everything was coming at me too damn fast. I didn’t want anything but the feel of Evan’s arms around me, and if I had my way, I would have stayed like that, held tight in the warmth of his embrace, forever.