by Lauren Smith
He hastily dried himself before he passed her the other towel. While she did her best to dry off, he dragged another chair up to face the one she was in and set the first aid kit nearby.
“Let me see your knees.” He waved at her legs. She had taken a nasty fall before he had gotten to her, and he wanted any scrapes she had cleaned up and bandaged.
Blair winced as she pulled the dress up past her knees, and he set about cleaning the blood off her wounds. The antiseptic wipes had to hurt, but she bit her lip rather than make any sound to reveal her pain. For some reason, that pissed him off. He wanted her to feel safe with him, and hiding pain meant she didn’t.
“Where were you going? Didn’t you hear the storm siren?” He surprised himself by not shouting, even though he was furious that she’d been in danger. He focused on her wounds and covered them with breathable Band-Aids that would help the healing process.
“I was out scouting for the best location to do photos for the adjustments on the campaign.”
“That isn’t worth dying over.” He finally looked her in the eyes, but all he could see was her being sucked out to sea and drowning.
“It could be, since my job depends on it.” Her desolate tone made him pity her, and he hated that.
“I haven’t even agreed to work with you,” he reminded her. “Our bargain only included that I would give it my honest consideration.”
“That’s because you haven’t heard my pitch—”
“Not a chance,” Denver barked, cutting her off. He gentled his tone and continued. “There’s nothing you could show me that could change my mind.” He couldn’t stop scowling, and his frown only deepened when he saw that dangerous flare of heat in her eyes. How could she find him the least bit attractive when he was going out of his way to be an asshole?
“Nothing?” she asked.
That single word inspired in him too many wicked thoughts, ones that made him the worst sort of man. He respected women, and he was always a gentleman. With Blair, it was like she awoke some vengeful bastard inside of him. How else could he explain what he wanted from her, what he wanted to do to her?
His body was rigid as he held still, his eyes locked on hers. “There’s only one thing I told you I truly want from you, and we both know that would be a terrible idea.”
She knew what he wanted. How could she not?
“Terrible.” Her breathless agreement drew his gaze to her lips. They weren’t too plump, or too thin—just beautiful, kissable, fuckable.
Unable to keep from touching her, he cupped the back of her neck, dominating her with so small a touch, but not hurting her.
“Then again, maybe this one little mistake won’t change anything,” he mused aloud. Maybe he could take what he wanted, could bed this little siren until her song no longer threatened to destroy him.
She licked her lips, leaning in a little rather than away, and the sensual predator inside him took over. He leaned in too and slanted his mouth over hers, unleashing all of his pent-up desire and forcing her startled lips apart as he plunged his tongue into the recesses of her mouth.
Blair tasted sweet, and with just one kiss he knew there wouldn’t be just one mistake. There would be dozens—all night, and every position, every surface . . .
He broke the kiss just enough to grin darkly at her. When she trembled, that dark monster inside him unfurled its wings and took flight. A flash of something, desperate hunger perhaps, flitted across her eyes before she hid it from him, and he wanted to roar in triumph. Blair wanted him, rage and all, and she would get him. He would make her moan and shred the bedding with her nails and scream for mercy, for more.
Denver was done playing nice.
He lifted her into his arms before he let himself think twice. He carried her down the hall to his bedroom and slammed the door closed. The automatic hurricane shutters were lifting since the storm was veering away, and the ocean’s black frothy waters matched his mood as he set Blair on her feet and pinned her against the closed door. He kissed her neck, biting and sucking on her skin, determined to leave evidence of his claiming wherever he could. He wanted to pleasure her until she went deaf and blind from it. He wanted no mercy for her.
She made a soft sound of drugged excitement, and he gripped her dress by the collar and tore it all the way open. Pearly white buttons scattered all around him, but he didn’t care. All he saw was the rounded perfection of her breasts tucked in a lacy navy-blue bra, like twin offerings to a virility god. He tugged the cups down and gazed in a lust-fueled haze at two of the most gorgeous breasts he had ever seen. They were bigger than her clothing choices had let on. Even that bathing suits she’d worn hadn’t fully shown her breasts off like this.
“Were you trying to hide these from me?” he growled as he cupped one and pinched the nipple of the other.
“What? No . . .” Her protest died on her lips as he lowered his head and sucked one tip into his mouth. He nibbled on the peak, gently abusing it with his mouth, teeth, and tongue until he moved on to her other breast. Blair clenched his head in her hands, her fingers tunneling through his hair, frequently tugging as she writhed against the door.
“Please, Denver,” Blair begged, and he loved it. He wanted her begging for it, for him, for the rest of his life. A man could get drunk on the feeling of this beautiful, brilliant woman needing him more than her next breath.
“Show me how much you need me,” he ordered and stepped back. The monster was in full control, and he didn’t care, not unless she said the word no or stop. By the look in her eyes, those two words weren’t in her vocabulary right now.
Blair sank to her knees, shedding the dress and spreading her legs a little to let him see the panties she wore.
“Please,” she begged.
He unfastened his belt, sliding it out of his pants and letting it fall to the floor. Then he unzipped his trousers and freed his shaft. It was hard enough to drive nails into the wall, but all he wanted was to sink it into any hole in her body that she would let him. She parted her lips, licking them in a way that nearly made his eyes roll back in his head.
“You want it?” he demanded.
Blair nodded and opened her mouth wider. Denver gripped his shaft, and she took it into her mouth. The enveloping wet heat of her around him was a dark euphoria. He wanted to be brutal, to fuck her mouth, but he held back, letting her get used to his size. Her hands slid up his thighs, her nails digging in as he tried to push to the back of her throat.
“That’s it. Show me you’re a bad girl.” He pumped himself in and out half a dozen more times before he drew himself out and pulled her to her feet. He had her bent over his bed an instant later, holding her in a vulnerable position.
“Tell me you deserve this, to get it hard and rough.” He held her by the back of her neck, his hips grinding against her ass. It was both heaven and hell to feel the lace of her panties as a barrier.
“I deserve it,” Blair whimpered. “I need it hard and rough.” He knew she wasn’t saying that just to appease him because he heard the dark desperation in her voice that matched his own.
He jerked her panties down her thighs and thrust into her waiting wetness. It felt even better than her mouth. Denver bent forward, placing one hand beside her shoulder on the bed as he kept her pinned down by the back of her neck with his other hand. Then he took what he wanted.
His hips rammed mercilessly against her ass, his cock jackhammering so deep inside of her that he wanted to stay inside her forever. She was so damn tight, and she clenched her inner walls a little and moaned every few seconds as he rammed into her over and over. As though possessed by some wild demon, he couldn’t stop. He needed more of her, all of her. He needed to own Blair completely. It wasn’t romantic; it wasn’t sensual. It was raw, filthy fucking that would leave her sore and him chaffed, and he didn’t give a shit.
“You belong to me,” he snarled. “Understand?”
As her climax hit her, she screamed and arched her back, pressin
g her luscious ass back into him, and he let the dark, animal side of him roar with his own mind-obliterating orgasm. He pumped her full of his essence, holding tight against her ass so that every bit of his release stayed within her.
After a long second, he caught his breath as reality rolled back in like the waves outside. He had just brutally fucked the daughter of the man he hated more than anything else on the planet. He expected to feel triumph, a surge of pride, but he didn’t. He felt . . . something else. The place that used to be full of his black rage had emptied itself, and something else was glowing inside him, something he dared not name. The only emotion he let himself face in that moment was concern for the woman he had just used so harshly. She stayed bent over the bed, shaking hard, as he hastily pulled out of her.
“Blair, are you okay? Shit, did I hurt you?”
Please, God, let her be okay . . .
“Blair, are you okay?” Denver’s voice was full of panic when it reached Blair through the confused chaos of her own reactions.
“I think so.” She couldn’t stop shaking. She had felt in those last few seconds like she was back on the shore, the dangerous waves coming toward her. She’d known she needed to escape and not let the water carry her away, only this time, Denver was the sea threatening to drown her.
“Are you cold?” he asked as he helped her stand up.
“Yeah, I think I just need a shower.” She needed warmth, heat, water over her body. She tried to pull free of him, but her panties were still halfway down her legs and she stumbled.
“Hold still.” He knelt at her feet and pulled off her wedge sandals. With one finger, he dragged her panties down and off her body. She rested her hands on his shoulders for balance. Then he stood up and scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the massive corner bathtub. He ran the water and tested its temperature before he urged her toward the tub, and she removed her bra.
She was still trembling and expected him to turn and walk away, but he simply stripped out of the rest of his clothes and slid into the tub with her. She sighed, and he pulled her body into the curve of his, letting her rest against him.
He said nothing, his hands speaking for him as they rolled over her skin, each touch comforting and gentle, an apology for his previous roughness. Not that she needed it. He had needed to get that out, to let the anger and frustration that had been building inside him explode. She closed her eyes as the hot water soaked into her limbs.
“I didn’t even think to ask if you were on the pill or something . . . Fuck,” he muttered.
She shifted against him so she could place a palm on his chest above his heart, letting the steady beat calm her. “I have an IUD. It’s fine. I’m clean—are you?”
“Yes, I get checked every few months and haven’t been with anyone since my last test.”
He was silent for a long moment, and she wondered if the thought of her accidentally pregnant was haunting him. She didn’t want him to worry or be angry with her, not right now.
“Thank you for saving my life.” She nuzzled his neck and exhaled a soft sigh as he tightened his arms around her.
“You’re welcome,” he finally replied.
She couldn’t help but giggle a little. “It does take some getting used to, doesn’t it?”
“What does?”
“Being nice to me.” She couldn’t contain the smile, even though she was exhausted.
He huffed in a nonverbal reply that made her laugh again. She felt dead, like none of her limbs would move. She wanted to stay in the hot bathtub with him forever.
If she hadn’t been so tired, she might’ve wanted to say something else, to try to tell him that her father had regretted what he’d done, that her uncle had been the one to set it in motion, but she yawned and drifted off to sleep before she could do or say anything else. Another woman might not have trusted herself to fall asleep in the arms of someone who hated her, but Blair trusted Denver.
Maybe someday he would trust her back.
8
Denver settled a naked Blair in his bed and brushed the hair back from her face. She was exhausted, and he knew she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon, not after the adrenaline surge and crash combined with the unplanned wild sex romp. He started to smile, but it withered as he came face-to-face with the reminder of who she was.
Paul Ashworth’s daughter.
She was a woman who’d been raised and loved by the man who’d stolen Denver’s father from him. The old anger of the past fifteen years resurfaced, just as raw and agonizing as it had been the day he’d come home from high school to find an ambulance at his house. When the EMTs had hauled his father away on a stretcher, he’d been barely alive. By the time they’d gotten to the ER, his father had already passed away. Denver hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye.
In just a matter of hours, he’d been forced to take over the reins of his family’s crumbling life. He’d done what he could to help his mother, because she’d been too shell-shocked from losing her husband to land on her feet. So it had all come down to Denver and what he could do to pay off his father’s debts on the business that had burned up in the wake of the FBI investigation.
Everything that had happened, all of it, lay at the feet of Paul Ashworth. And Denver had just taken his daughter to bed, fucked her raw, and left her exhausted. Denver shook off the mingled feelings of guilt, shame, and present desire to claim her again.
He dressed quietly and collected her clothes, leaving them at the foot of his bed. The storm had lessened to heavy rain, and the sea swells had died down. It was safe to go outside, and that was exactly where he needed to be—out by the sea and far away from the siren in his bed. He decided a quick exit from his suite was necessary.
As soon as he stepped out into the rain and felt the hot sea air wrap around him, he breathed a sigh of relief. He made his way down the path and studied the resort buildings, looking for any damage. He didn’t see much that would need repair. The most they would need to do was clean up debris like rocks and seaweed that had been dragged onto the beach. The sidewalks would need sweeping. It was all easy fixes, and Denver was almost disappointed by the lack of something greater to draw his focus.
Moving deeper onto the beach, he collected a few shells here and there until he found a large black clam amid some seaweed. He lifted it up and couldn’t resist cracking open the shell. It wasn’t unusual for clams and oysters to wash ashore during a storm. Denver pulled out the small knife he carried in his pocket to crack the shell open. He’d had some practice at it and managed not to harm the mollusk inside. He dug around the slippery confines of the clam until he felt the hard shape of a pearl. Denver gently removed the luminescent blue-tinted pearl from the shell, and then he waded into the surf and tossed the clam back into the water.
When he got back to the shore, he examined the pearl more closely. It was the perfect size for an engagement ring. He knew exactly what to do with it. Pocketing the pearl, he continued his walk up to the Siren bungalow, where he used his bracelet to access Blair’s rooms. He’d never crossed that line before by entering a guest’s private space, but this was a special circumstance. He’d ripped Blair’s dress open, and she needed clothes to wear.
He stepped into the bungalow and headed toward the bedroom. A dark-blue suitcase was sitting on a luggage rack, and the closet was full of her clothes. Denver sorted through the blazers and the dresses and shorts. He couldn’t help but picture her in all the outfits and how he’d immediately want to strip her out of them.
Vowing to behave himself, he chose a pale-turquoise silk blouse with sleeves that stopped at the elbows, a pair of khaki shorts, and flat gold sandals. While her legs looked killer in heels, if he so much as saw her in heels of any kind, he would lose his damn mind and want to toss her on her back and throw her legs up while he plowed into her, those heels digging into his shoulders. Yes, he would crave that sort of punishment.
With a little mutter about how insane he was for still needing her so muc
h, Denver collected the clothes for her to wear and paused by the suitcase to retrieve her small jewelry case, and then he chose a pair of panties and a bra for her. Naturally, he selected the laciest pair in the suitcase set, which only made his cock hard again. Then he stuffed them in a plastic bag to protect them from the rain and left Blair’s bungalow. He was reluctant to go back to his own rooms too soon—not because he didn’t want to be close to her again, but because he wanted that far too much. It was as he had feared; Blair was a dangerous temptation, and he had made a mistake tasting her because one taste wouldn’t be enough.
Blair wasn’t surprised to wake alone in bed, but she was disappointed. It was too much to expect him to stay. She stretched beneath the sheets, then blushed when she realized she was naked. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in the bathtub. He must have carried her to bed and dried her off before tucking her in.
For an asshole who hated her, he was pretty damn sweet. What was he like to women he actually didn’t hate? He had to be an absolute prince charming.
As the storm faded outside, Blair lay listening to the rain lightly lashing against the windows for several long minutes before she finally forced herself out of the cozy bed. There was work to be done, and the more distance she put between herself and Denver’s bed, the better. She threw back the covers and noticed her clothes neatly folded and stacked on the end of the bed. She sighed as she recalled all too vividly how her sundress had been rendered unwearable. She laughed to herself at the thought that she had had the fantasy of ripping all his clothes off, but he had been the one to burst her buttons instead.
She had to wear something while she figured out how to get back to her cabin for some clothes. Blair crossed the room to Denver’s closet and opened the door. Dozens of expensive shirts hung on wooden hangers next to suit coats paired with perfectly pressed trousers, while color-coordinated sections filled the remainder of the closet. It seemed wrong to disturb the perfection of his clothing, so she turned back to his bedroom and spotted the white button-up shirt he’d worn a few hours earlier. It lay on the floor by the bed.