Текст книги "Busted"

Автор книги: Shiloh Walker

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Then after a scathing look that left him feeling like she’d just sliced the top layer of his skin off, she turned on one ice-pick heel and strode off.

He was distracted enough by the sway of her hips—and the delightful, round curve of her ass—that it took him another fifteen seconds to make himself move.

Yeah, maybe he should have explained that part first.

*   *   *

“Hey, wait a minute.”

As he ducked into the elevator with her, Ressa folded her arms over her chest. “Afraid I can’t, Mr. Barnes.”

Her icy tone drew the eye of more than a few passengers in the elevator. She started to tap her foot, watching the numbers speed by.

The floor stopped at eleven, fourteen, fifteen—

“Ressa, wait.”

She pushed through the bodies as the elevator slowed at seventeen. “I’ve got a busy afternoon, Mr. Barnes, so if you’ll—”

She hissed as she turned to see him coming off the elevator after her.

Not a single damn soul said a word, although more than a few watched with rapt gazes until the elevator doors slid closed in their faces.

“I guess I didn’t make myself clear,” she said. “Let me take care of that now.”

“I think I should go first.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, inclining his head.

“Oh?” With a cool smile, she waved a hand. “Please do.”

Despite herself—and the disappointment—and heaven help her, that knee-jerk reaction she’d had to say yes to whatever he wanted to do—she wondered what excuse he’d pull out of his ass.

He lowered his head, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. With his left hand, one that was noticeably bare today.

He was nothing but another player. It pissed her off, too. She’d liked him. He’d seemed so . . . nice. He was an amazing father, and he adored his son and he was . . . well, he’d seemed almost perfect. Taken, yeah. But still . . . perfect.

He went to drop his hand, head still bowed. But as he was lowering his hand, he stopped, pausing, staring at the pale strip where his ring would have been.

He looked at his hand like he’d never seen it.

“We only had a few years together,” he said, his voice soft, almost distant. “We met in college and . . . that was it for us. We just knew. We waited until we graduated to get married.”

Something about his tone had her stomach twisting. Stop it. You’ve heard these lines before.

“My wife . . . she . . .”

“Look, if you all are separated or whatever, fine. But I don’t date married guys. So—”

“She died almost six years ago.” He looked up then, his gaze flat. So flat, almost cold. He looked back at his hand, staring at the place where his ring would have been. “I was at a conference. She was pregnant with Clay and there was an accident—a drunk driver crossed the lines while my wife was on her way to her OB appointment. She . . .” He stopped and looked away, but not in time to keep her from seeing the diamond bright glint in his eyes.

“She went into early labor—died during the C-section.” He cut another look her way. “The ring . . . well. I know she’s gone. It’s not like I’m clinging to her memory or anything. It’s just . . . things were . . .” He stopped and shook his head. “Never mind. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

With her heart tangled up somewhere in her throat, Ressa stared after him as he walked away.

Chapter Nine

“I rode the roller coaster!”

Back braced against the headboard, Trey smiled as Clayton peered up at him from the screen of his iPhone. His grin was a mile wide and he had a smudge of chocolate or something on his nose, and the sight of the boy soothed the ragged ache in Trey’s heart.

“Did you throw up?”

“Gross! No. Have you ever thrown up on a roller coaster?” Clayton asked.

“Nope. One time, though, when we were kids, your uncles and I ate like three hot dogs—”

Two seconds later, his mother was on the phone. “Don’t you dare, Trey Malcolm Barnes. You hear me?”

“Ah, hi, Mom. How are you?” He summoned up his best smile, knowing it wasn’t going to do any good. It hadn’t, even when they were kids.

Denise just narrowed her eyes at him.

That made him laugh. “So that panel earlier was . . . kind of intense.”

“Don’t you go putting any ideas in that boy’s head,” she said, ignoring his attempts to distract her.

“Mom. He’s my kid,” Trey pointed out. “He was probably born with those ideas imprinted on his DNA.”

“Exactly. I’m hoping they’ll stay there—inactive—and here you are, telling him about . . . that.”

He laughed, felt more of the shadows fall away. He could practically see his mother shuddering as she remembered that one time. A hot dog binge, three kids on a coaster—Zane had proven to be smart enough to not do it—although he had dared them. Sebastian had been too short, and of course, he’d cried the entire time. Right up until they all started getting sick and then he’d laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

“Okay. I won’t give him ideas while he’s at Disney with you.” That was the most he could promise. “Now, can I talk to Clayton? Please?”

Her aggravated sigh only made him smile wider. “You boys, it’s a miracle I still have any hair left.”

“So did you throw up after?” Clayton asked.

“Tell you what, Clay. We’ll talk about it—all about it—once we’re home. Grandma doesn’t wanna hear about puke and stuff. We don’t want to make her unhappy.”

“Oh. Okay.” Clayton was quiet for a second and then veered onto the next topic. “When are you going to be done? I miss you.”

“Soon, buddy.” At the knock, he rolled off his bed and moved to the door. A quick look through the security hole had him frowning. No. He didn’t think he wanted to open the door. Turning away, he moved out of the bedroom to the narrow little strip that served as a balcony. There was another knock just as he shut the door.

He had no idea what Ressa wanted, but he’d already decided it was better to just let it go.

“I want a Darth Vadar backpack for school.”

At that, Trey pulled his attention back to what mattered—focusing on the excited boy on the other end of the line.

He’d surprised himself, though.

He’d taken the ring off.

He’d asked her out.

Start living again.

Yeah, he’d do that. Later. He could still feel something inside, he’d proven that. But he’d try again . . . later. With somebody who didn’t have the power to rip a hole in him with just a look.

He wouldn’t lock himself back up again.

He’d made himself that promise when he came back inside his room and saw the ring on the floor. It wasn’t meant to be a shield and it shouldn’t have been worn as a reminder of . . . whatever had happened that night.

It had been a sign of a promise, one that both he and Aliesha had honored, until death had come between them.

Now he just had to accept it—and let go of those things he couldn’t remember.

*   *   *

Feeling a little sick, Ressa stared at the coffee she held—a peace offering—and then back up at the door.

He was in there. She knew it for a fact, because she’d heard him, the low rumble of his voice. She had no idea who he was talking to and she hadn’t heard anybody else, but he was in there—ignoring her.

Sighing, she lifted her hand to knock a third time, but in the end, she turned away. Eying the narrow table behind her, she shrugged and figured it wasn’t going to hurt.

She left the coffee sitting there, with a note scrawled across the side in scrawling black.

T.

 

I’m sorry.

R.

*   *   *

“It’s the hottest one yet, I’m telling you.” Ellie Barrister leaned across a table roughly the size of a dinner plate and tapped the postcard she’d slapped on the table earlier. They’d made it through the first days of the book fair—tomorrow was the final day. Tonight was for chatter, a few drinks . . . and brooding.

“I hear you. L. Forrester, whoever she is, puts some of the best I’ve ever read to shame. I just wish she’d do interviews.” Tori Caldwell clicked her beer to Lynnette’s cosmo. “Signings, a book tour . . . something. She’s practically a hermit.”

Ressa snorted and shook her head. Sitting at a table surrounded by her friends, they were talking books and men and life in general. “Sounds a lot like somebody else I know.” Although, to be fair, there was information out there on Trey. She just hadn’t looked.

At the curious gazes directed her way, she shrugged. “Actually, there are a few authors I can think of who fit that bill. Some of them are weird. You ought to know that by now.”

“True. And if weird translates to amazing . . . then fine. Be weird. But she could at least talk to me. I mean, listen to this . . .” Lynette flipped through the book and stopped close to halfway through.

Ressa winced. “If you spoil that book for me, I’ll smack you over the head with it.”

“I’ve already finished mine.” Ellie grinned at them. “If you’re nice, Ressa, I might let you borrow it, as long as you return it. I need to read it another three, four . . . ten times to decide if it’s my favorite or not.”

“Nothing is going to top You, I Desire,” Ressa said, absolutely certain.

“Guys? Hush.” Lynnette reached for her cosmo, took a sip and then started to read.

“She shouldn’t be here.” Lynnette looked up, winked. “This is our heroine, by the way. Nina. She’s seducing a billionaire.”

“She’s telling us to hush,” Tori muttered, shaking her head.

“Another billionaire?” Ressa rolled her eyes. “You know I hate billionaire books.”

“Me, too.” Tori slumped in her chair, her gaze roaming the room. “I want another drink. Should I go to the bar or hope we can flag our server?”

“The bar. It’s packed,” Lynnette said. “Ya know, I’m not big on billionaire books, but sometimes they work for me. I was kind of surprised Forrester did one. But this one was fun, and Ressa, you especially are going to love it. The guy is a geek. And borderline awkward. He made eggs explode when he tried to hard-boil them because he got distracted reading Patricia Briggs. He goes to SF/F cons and the first time he saw her, he had this crazy thought that he might believe in love at first sight.”

Ressa started to laugh. “Shows that a woman is writing it. Men don’t believe in love at first sight. Sex, yeah . . . but love?” She shrugged. “I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight.”

“I do.” A wide, satisfied smile settled over Ellie’s face. She had just celebrated her tenth anniversary—and she married a guy she’d known under a month.

“I think I could believe in it . . . if I met the right guy. Now let me read.” Lynnette cleared her throat, and then she started to read, getting into it, too by the way her voice changed oh, so slightly.

“She shouldn’t be here. She liked this guy—she wasn’t supposed to like him. It was a job—he was a job. She was supposed to get to know more about him, understand what kind of guy he was now and how he’d gone from Geek Central to Mr. GQ and then . . . then . . .

“‘Nina? Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you—’”

Fuck the job. With need and want a vicious tangle inside her, she launched herself at him. His mouth opened under hers and it was a vivid, almost vicious delight when his tongue rubbed against hers. His arms came around her and her head started to spin—

“Oh. Oh, wow. Who in the hell is that?” Tori whispered, interrupting Lynnette. She jabbed Ressa in the side, staring at somebody in the doorway. “Damn. Isn’t he pretty?”

Ressa looked over her shoulder and damn near choked. “Sweetheart, you don’t want that.”

“Yes, oh, yes I do.” She hummed a little under her breath as she leaned forward.

“You all are killing me.” Lynnette put the book down with a snap. Ressa took advantage of that and snagged it, flipping through and looking for the spot where Lynnette had been reading.

“Hey!”

Grinning, Ressa continued to turn the page even as she glanced up at Tori. “Girl, that man is a prick—with a capital P. He loves the sound of his own voice. Shit, he probably loves his voice so much, he jacks off to the sound of it.”

Lynnette and Ellie laughed while Tori shot her a dark look. “You could let me have my fantasies, you know.”

“Okay. Fantasize away.”

“Ah . . . he’s coming over here, ladies.” Lynnette lifted her cosmo. “I don’t know about any of you, but I have absolutely no time for—”

“Ressa. How lovely to run into you again.”

She didn’t bother smiling as she looked up at Baron. “Baron.” Then she looked back at the group. “So, has anybody speculated much about—”

“Ladies, I was wondering, if maybe—”

Teeth grinding together, Ressa turned her head. Jack-ass.

With a sweet smile, she met his gaze. “Yes, Mr. Capstone? Did you need something?”

He studied her, a smile flirting with his lips.

Just as he was going to respond, though, Lynnette whispered, “It’s him.” Then her hand shot out. “Please, Ressa. You have to introduce me. Please. I’m dying. I . . .”

Baron turned his head at the same time as Ressa.

Her belly sank.

She thought maybe she’d just like to disappear as Baron lifted an arm. “Max. Trey. Why don’t you come over here? Trey has some . . . fans.”

He gave Ressa a charming smile. “Why don’t you join me for a drink while they chat? I swear, you really do look familiar to me.”

The look in his eyes made her skin crawl and she wanted, very badly, to put a lot of distance between them. “I already have a drink, Mr. Capstone,” she said, lifting hers and smiling.

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she pushed back from her chair, watching Trey and Max. A funny little twist of heat went through her at the sight of Trey.

Heat . . . and awkwardness.

“Max.” She looked at him first, managed to smile. Then she slid her gaze to Trey. His blue eyes were blank. Almost carefully so. “Mr. Barnes. If you two have a moment, I’ve got some friends who wanted to meet you. And . . . I . . . ah . . .”

Just get it out. Before he disappears and you can’t. If she didn’t say it, the words would burn inside her, like an open sore—festering and raw.

“I needed to apologize, for earlier. I’m sorry.”

Trey’s lids flickered.

You should have said yes, a small voice inside her murmured. Regret was a living, breathing thing inside her.

“So!” With a bright smile that she didn’t at all feel, Ressa turned around. “May I introduce Lynnette, Tori, and Ellie? We’ve been friends online for forever and once or twice a year, we try to hook up at one of these events. Guys, this is Max . . .” She moved to stand at his side, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “And this is Trey Barnes. Sorry, Max, but it’s him they really want to talk to.”

Max chuckled. “That’s okay. I’m used to being tossed aside for the younger, better looking guys these days.”

She breathed out a nearly silent sigh of relief as Trey moved forward to talk to her friends.

“. . . join us?”

She blinked, caught off guard a few minutes later.

Max tightened the hand he’d laid on hers. “Ressa, are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine. My mind was just wandering. What were you saying?”

“We’re all getting sort of hungry and thought we’d order something.” Max cocked a thick brow. “Are you going to join us? We’ll need a few more chairs.”

“Oh. Well . . .” She shot a look around the table. “Um, no . . . no, I don’t think so.” She eased her hand away from Max and edged around Trey to grab her bag. She caught Lynnette’s eye and held her friend’s gaze, hard, for a long moment, before she turned around, her gaze skating past Trey to meet Max’s once more. “I’m actually heading to bed. I’m still dragging from that drive in. Raincheck?”

“Breakfast, right?” She glanced at her friends, saw the speculative glance in Lynnette’s eyes, saw Ellie opening her mouth—then wincing. Probably because Tori had just kicked her under the table.

“Breakfast!” Tori smiled. “You’re buying, remember. You owe us.”

Ressa bit back a groan and then nodded at the group in general, before turning on her heel.

She had a bottle of wine in her room. Ellie had brought it when she drove in from Albuquerque—her friend hated to fly and drove everywhere.

Ressa was going to crack that baby open and drink the whole—

“That was smooth.”

She practically came right out of her skin. Whirling around, she glared at Trey. He stood less than two feet away.

“You . . .” Heaving out a breath, she pressed a hand to her racing heart and then looked past him into the hotel restaurant. Max had settled into her seat and Baron was shouldering his way deeper into the crush.

Nobody looked their way. At all.

“Mr. Barnes—”

“It’s Trey,” he said, his voice mild.

Narrowing her eyes, she continued to speak. “Unless you needed something, I’d like to go on up to my room. My panel is at eight thirty in the morning. I don’t know who thought that was a good idea, but I need some sleep if I’m going to be functional.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “I just wanted to tell you thanks for the coffee.”

As he cut around her, she reached up and pressed her fingers to her temples. “You are a very frustrating man, you know that?”

She watched as he turned around, still walking, backward. “So I’ve been told. You didn’t need to apologize. You didn’t know. We’ll just chalk it all up to an . . . awkward experience.”

Then he headed off down the hall.

She should have just let it go.

Just let it go at that. Really.

“Oh, it’s been an experience. Not really the kind I was shooting for, but yeah. It’s been an experience.”

This time, when he turned around, he didn’t keep walking backward. Instead, he moved toward her, his steps slow, his eyes thoughtful. “Yeah? Exactly what sort of experience were you shooting for?”

Ressa thought about the ring he’d worn, the one he’d taken off and how he’d stumbled and fumbled through trying to explain it.

She thought of the storm of emotion that had been in his voice, in his eyes. It wasn’t just grief—there was a storm of emotion that she couldn’t even begin to understand.

Then she thought about the faint smile that tugged at his lips, that heat she’d seen in his gaze.

Don’t. Just don’t—her common sense screamed.

“I’ve got wine in my room. I was going to drink the whole bottle. Want to save me from myself?”

“I don’t drink much these days,” he said softly. Then he blew out a breath. The words were laden with things unsaid. Then he shrugged. “But I can maybe keep you company.”

Chapter Ten

It took almost twenty minutes to get to her room, thanks to the crush at the elevators. During that twenty minutes, Trey waited for the voice of reason to ruin things.

Waited for that awkwardness that had accompanied the last three dates.

Waited for his gut to start to churn at the thought of sitting down over a drink—it did, every time. He dealt with it, smiled through it and handled the headache after.

Waited for a rush of guilt, for the elevator to get stuck, an earthquake, a meteor strike . . . anything that would signify this was just a bad, awful idea.

But with each minute that passed, he just wanted to be in her room—at this point, any room would do, so long as he had some privacy—because he was dying to touch her.

He didn’t know exactly what she was offering.

Part of him thought he did, and he was almost certain he was right, but Trey was a realist. He was also more likely to believe in the negative with some things, because it was easier that way. Disappointment sucked.

He was also fully aware that more than likely, even if she was interested in . . . anything, this was the most likely scenario—if she touched him, his brain was going to screw everything up and then he’d look like a basket case in front of a woman he wanted more than he wanted his next breath of air.

His hands were shaking.

To hide it, he shoved them into his back pockets as they waited for their turn to shuffle onto the elevator. Finally, they managed to wedge themselves in and then more people wedged themselves in after that. Trey found himself so close, he could have turned his head and he’d be able to bury his face in her hair. Soft, wild twists of curls . . . what would she do—

“Oh! Sorry!” There was a giggle, a squeal . . . and then like a bunch of dominos, people half fell, half crashed into others as the woman in the front continued to giggle. “Oopsie! Too marny—ah, too many marnis—too many martinis!”

A couple of snorts, a couple of snickers and more than a few curses. Trey barely heard any of them. Ressa had ended up crushed against his chest and he was pinned to the wall. Her hip was pressed snug to his crotch and even as he tried to ease her away, her gaze shifted, lifted . . .

His cock started to pulse, throb.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth.

Her hand fisted in the material of his shirt as she licked the full, ripe curve of her lower lip. If he didn’t at least taste that mouth—

The elevator dinged and bodies spilled out. As the person next to them escaped the press, Ressa eased back. Dusky color rode along her cheekbones as she slid her eyes up to meet his.

Tearing his gaze away, he looked at the lights flickering above the elevator door.

It hit her floor and as she turned away, she slid her hand down, caught his.

Sweat beaded at the nape of his neck and he had one brief moment of lucidity.

Trey Barnes was a man who liked order. He liked to be in control.

But he had absolutely no idea what in the hell he was doing.

And he was absolutely fine with that.

*   *   *

Her heart was still racing.

Despite the fact that they’d been packed into that elevator like sardines in a can, for one brief moment, it had just been the two of them. Voices had faded away. The press of too many bodies and a woman’s drunken laugh. Everything faded.

The only press she’d felt was his . . . the press of his body to hers, his arm under her breasts as he steadied her, his cock against her hip, pulsing in a way that had her core tightening in response.

The only voice she’d heard had been an internal one that whispered, I need to touch him. So bad. I need . . .

Now, as she swiped her key through the card reader, her hands were sweating, almost shaking.

And the damn key card wouldn’t work.

“Figures,” she whispered, her voice hitching.

A warm hand came around, took the key. “Let me see,” he murmured, his voice way too close to her ear.

Eyes closed, she stood there, struck dumb from the want ravaging inside her. The door clicked and she opened her eyes as he came around her to turn the handle, push it open. Then he turned his head, stared at her.

Waiting. On her, she knew.

Do or die, she thought, a little desperately.

Kind of extreme, maybe. But it felt apt. Because in that moment, she knew if she didn’t take him inside . . . and then just take him—let them take each other—some little piece inside of her would feel like it had died.

She slid past him, brushing up against his body as she did so. She felt his ragged intake of air and that hot, hungry need inside trembled, swelled.

She didn’t turn on the light.

As the door clicked shut behind her, she kicked off the spike heels and then turned to look at him.

Abruptly, a line from the book Lynnette had been reading danced through her mind.

With need and want a vicious tangle . . .

Yes, this was a tangle, one that was entirely too twisted, considering how short a time she’d known him. Hours, really. Just a handful of hours when you added it all up.

None of that mattered.

She moved toward him.

He met her halfway and as his arms came around her, everything inside her breathed out a sigh of delight . . . even as the need inside her demanded for more.

*   *   *

The curls he tangled around his hand were every bit as wild, as soft, as crazy as he’d thought they’d be.

And her mouth was pure, silken sin.

Spinning her around, he pressed her to the wall and caught her hips in his hands, boosted her up. Her dress caught, stopped him from spreading her open and he snarled, shoved it up—only to stop, sanity trying to intrude.

You should pull back. Pull back now before this just goes to hell—

Pull back?

Ressa hooked one leg around his and rolled her hips.

Rolled her hips against him and his cock throbbed, pulsated behind the barrier of his jeans. Desperate, he shoved the skirt of her dress the rest of the way up and cupped the lush curve of her hips, fingers digging into the silken flesh. With a groan, she wrapped her legs around his hips and started to rock, rubbing herself up and down.

His eyes all but rolled into the back of his head.

She was already wet—he could feel her, through something silky and thin.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he braced one hand on the wall, eased back.

Ressa continued to roll her hips against his and he could hear the shuddery, shaking breaths as they escaped, felt his own echo within his chest as he looked down. He was still completely dressed. So was she—but her dress had been pushed up to her waist and a pair of panties painted a murder-red swath across her hips.

And still she moved against him, like that contact was vital.

To him, it was.

But . . .

But . . . that voice of reason demanded to be heard now. You can’t do this. You know better. You have to be in control, more in control. You have to be careful.

“Ressa.” Her name was a ragged, broken whisper.

She reached up. “I’ve got something in my bag,” she said softly. “I’m healthy. Haven’t been with anybody in two years. You’ll use a rubber, though.”

Easy, practical . . .

The voice of reason went silent, soothed.

She stroked her hand down his chest and his body leaped, all but ready to lunge and pounce and take. He kept waiting for something else—for his body to freeze up on him like it had the last time he’d tried to so much as kiss a woman.

“Trey . . .” She leaned in, pressed her mouth to his neck.

Fuck this. Trey pushed away from the wall and turned, half stumbling toward the bed.

If it all fell apart, well, he might as well enjoy it as much as he could before then.

He bumped into something on the way to her bed, swore. Did it again and then swore again, tearing his mouth away from hers only to have her catch his head and try to draw him back. Three boxes, a suitcase and a desk the size of a postage stamp turned the room into an obstacle course. Shifting his grip on her, he edged around the desk, a box—her teeth caught his ear. “You’re taking too long.”

He grunted as he reached the bed, slowly lowering her to her feet. “Sorry.” Holding her eyes, he reached down, catching the material bunched around her waist, dragging it up. “Can we do away with this?”

“Let’s.” She turned, presenting her back and sweeping her hair out of the way.

Catching the tab of the zipper, he dragged it down, watched as the material spread open. Lust slammed into him as flesh was revealed. The band of her bra, the same bright murder red she’d slicked across her lips, interrupted the smooth skin of her back. But that wasn’t the only color.

Flames.

Twining around elegant, scrolled print. It started at her nape and ran down the line of her spine.

Desperate to see more of her, he shoved the material down over her arms. It caught at her waist, bunched there and he shoved it lower until it hung over her hips. She went to wiggle out of it but he caught her waist, eyes locked on the tattoo. And despite how his cock was throbbing, despite the need that had his hands all but shaking, he found himself smiling, almost charmed.

“‘You are who you choose to be,’” he murmured, running his finger down the script, the flames that danced all around it.

“Now if you don’t recognize that quote, I think we’re gonna have to call this whole thing off, baby.”

He went to his knees, intrigued by the bit of color he could just barely make out under the material that tangled at her hips. “Please.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to her spine. “Give me some credit.”

Her breath caught as he smoothed the dress down, leaving her clad in scraps of lace and silk. It was a picture that would leave him with fantasy material for a good, long time, he mused. Then he smiled even wider, leaning in to press a kiss to the little figure tattoo at the very base of her spine. Whoever had done it had been good—the robot was no more than a few inches, but it had some of the finest detail he’d ever seen, and while he wasn’t as big into ink as some, he figured he knew talent when he saw it.

“The Iron Giant.” He rose, sliding his hands around, pulling her back against him. “Favorite movie?”

She laughed easily. “Oh, I like it well enough. But that line stuck with me. Decided maybe I’d keep it with me as a reminder.”

“Hmmm . . .” He slid one hand up, up, up until he could trace his finger over the triquetra inked onto her chest, dipping low between her breasts. He wanted to turn her around, press his mouth just there—where the softly rounded point disappeared between those lush curves. His cock pulsed and she reached back, cupping his hips in her hands, tugging him closer.

No. He better not do just anything yet—

Control. Find some control first.

Voice raw, he reached around and trailed his fingers over the tattoo where it ran between the valley of her breasts. “This one?”

“My first one.” Something of humor touched her voice and he slid her a look. She angled her head back, met his eyes. “I was feeling all wise and philosophical. Read that it had something to do with beginnings and endings and how they were all connected. Part of me wanted to get something that signified a slamming door—as in kiss my ass—but then I got to thinking about how I needed to remember how something ended, so I wouldn’t go back there. It’s all connected.”

That humor faded, and fast. Because he didn’t want whatever had moved through her mind to come between them, he leaned in and nuzzled her neck. “I’ve got to tell you—whatever it means, why ever you did it . . . it’s sexy as hell.”

*   *   *

His voice stroked all over her skin, almost like he’d run his hands along her body instead of that light brush across the tattoo. She wanted him running his hands along her body.

And she wanted him naked.

Wiggling around until she faced him, she reached up and toyed with the top button of his shirt. “What about you?” She lifted a brow. Her mind went hot and hazy as she remembered the day she’d seen him running—and she knew it had been him, but she wasn’t about to point out how she’d all but drooled over the quick look she’d gotten as he pounded the pavement outside her library. “You got any ink?”

“I guess you’ll have to find out.” He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her upper chest, right at her collarbone.