Full Exposure

by Tracy Wolff

  Again she tried to rock against him and again he held her still. “Kevin, please.” She was sobbing—entreating—and she didn’t care. Tears streamed down her face and small explosions occurred with every touch of his mouth on her body. With every thrust of his cock between her legs.

  And still he wouldn’t end it. His mouth slipped over her bare shoulder, down her breasts to her nipples. She screamed at the first flick of his tongue over the hardened buds, pleasure and pain mingling inside of her until she was twisting violently in his arms. Desperate for some freedom of motion. Desperate for the completion only he could give her.

  “Serena, bebe.” His voice was soft and strained against her breasts, his tongue tracing patterns over and around her nipples. “I love you. I love you so much.” He lifted her in his powerful arms, held her suspended in midair as he lapped delicately at her clit. Just hard enough to drive her crazy without sending her spinning into space. “If you can’t say that you love me too, at least tell me that you trust me. That you know I’ll never do anything to hurt you.”

  He pulled her clit between his teeth and nibbled softly and she screamed again. She screamed and screamed and screamed as sensations unlike anything she’d ever felt before coursed through her. Pleasure and pain. Lust and fear. Overwhelming need and an incredible vulnerability that she couldn’t get away from.

  She was on overload—her mind and body craving Kevin and what only he could give her. Only him. Only Kevin. He’d given her so much—she arched against his hips, desperate for a harder pressure, dying for just a little more.

  Would it be so bad if she gave him just a little of what he needed from her? If she gave back to him just a little of what he’d given her?

  He lowered her back to his lap, his tongue relinquishing her aching clit and she wanted to howl in disappointment. She’d been so close, had actually been teetering on the cliff that would send her spinning into ecstasy. One more lick, one more nibble—one more anything—and she would have flown.

  “Fuck you, Kevin!” She screamed the words as frustration roared through her and tears poured unheeded down her face. Any other time she would have been embarrassed at her lack of restraint, but he’d turned her into a wild thing. Bucking, scratching, biting, tearing, begging. Pleading with him to end it. Beyond desperate for the pleasure he could so effortlessly give her. If only he would.

  “Gladly.” His voice was hoarse, tense, and for a moment—just a moment—she pulled away from the need raving her with its fiery claws. And saw his clenched jaw, his tense shoulders, his beautiful hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles were white. And for a second—just a second, before he turned his head away—she saw the tears shining in his eyes.

  Her restraint broke, burying her fears under the weight of her desire and Kevin’s love. “I need you,” she cried as her hips moved agonizingly against his.

  “I want you.” She lowered her lips to his, her teeth closing over his bottom lip.

  “I trust you—only you.” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.

  With a hoarse shout, Kevin lifted her away from him and rolled her onto her back in one smooth motion. Reaching down, he unzipped his jeans. And then he was over her, around her, inside of her so deep she was afraid she’d never get him out. Even more afraid that when the time came, she wouldn’t want to.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Darkness was settling over the bayou when Serena pushed the door of Kevin’s truck closed with a resounding bang, knowing from bitter experience that it took quite a bit of strength to get it and keep it closed. He’d offered her the Ferrari, but she’d been a shade leery, to say the least. The way her luck had been going lately, she’d end up with a huge dent in the side and then Kevin would have to kill her. Literally. He wasn’t attached to much, but the Ferrari topped the lists of things he couldn’t live without.

  She smiled as she grabbed the grocery bags sitting on the passenger seat, filled with stuff for dinner and two boxes of Twinkies for Kevin, as his supply was running dismally low. How was she to have known that she’d develop a taste for the little yellow sponge cakes herself?

  She was getting downright domestic, she thought as she began putting the groceries away, humming as she went over dinner preparations in her head. In the last few days, she and Kevin had fallen into a routine. He made breakfast, she made dinner and they pretty much scavenged for lunch on their own.

  And if she wasn’t quite as relaxed about the whole situation as she pretended to be, that was nobody’s business but hers. She was learning to trust—albeit slowly, as she waited for the other shoe to drop. But she was learning. At least half of her time with Kevin was spent in the moment instead of worrying about things she couldn’t control.

  His work was going very well and though he was extremely secretive about what he was doing, she could tell it was huge. Not just in its size, but in the impact it was going to have on his career. The lines were clean, beautiful, so smooth and flowing that she’d never seen anything like it before. She couldn’t wait to see the finished product, with all the pieces assembled in their proper places.

  She’d taken lots of pictures of Kevin working, relaxing, trekking through his beloved swamps. She’d also begun a series on Louisiana bayous for her exhibition, and she’d taken some of the most amazing photos of her career. Raccoons sneaking up and eating marshmallows from Kevin’s hands. Alligators cruising the swamp looking for dinner. Even an incredible close-up of a cottonmouth snake dangling lazily from a tree.

  But her time here was drawing to a close—she knew it and so did Kevin. It was in the way he looked at her, the way he held her and made love to her at night. A kind of desperation that hadn’t been there before.

  But she couldn’t stall Steve much longer, as the publishing company was beginning to ride him hard. The deadline they had set was looming and she had more than enough photos to meet it, if she could just talk herself into going back to Baton Rouge.

  But she was so afraid that their relationship would be over when she did. While she was here, doing her job, she could exist in a happy, little world somewhere out of time. She pretended her actions didn’t have consequences, that soon she wouldn’t have to make a choice.

  Because Kevin wasn’t the type to settle for less than everything, and she knew she didn’t have that much to give. Not just because she was scared, though she was, but because her soul wasn’t intact enough to give him all that he wanted. She didn’t think she could commit to any more than she had already.

  They had established a fragile peace after her cold little temper tantrum a few nights ago, and she could tell that Kevin, like her, was reluctant to rock the boat. But he was reckless and impatient by nature and she knew that he wouldn’t wait much longer before drawing his line in the sand, a line she knew she could never measure up to.

  So she buried her head, letting precious days trickle away as she lived in her little fantasy world. But she couldn’t live in a bubble forever. Lately she’d taken to lying awake at night, listening to Kevin breathe as she watched the numbers roll slowly past on the digital clock. She’d begun to hate that clock, detesting its silent smugness as it slowly counted down her remaining time with Kevin.

  Serena shut her thoughts down with a grimace. She was starting to sound like a total lunatic, and that so wasn’t the image she wanted to leave Kevin with. So instead of dwelling on what she couldn’t have, she focused on what she could. Namely, a romantic dinner with Kevin. One of their last. She wanted it to be special, so she was making her famous gumbo—a recipe her mother had taught Sandra and her many years before and one that Kevin had loved when she’d made it a couple of weeks before.

  Serena turned the radio on, danced a little as one of her favorite Clapton songs came on, laughing at herself as she did. Wanting to set the mood, she lit some candles and dimmed the lights a little. Slapping butter and flour in a pan, she began making the dark roux that was the most important part of any good gumbo. When the roux was thi
ck and bubbly, she added some chicken stock and let it simmer as she began chopping celery and onions. A new song came on and she swayed gently as she worked, caught in the romantic lyrics about piña coladas and the rain. Piña coladas sounded particularly good right now. Maybe she’d see if Kevin had some coconut in his cupboards.

  Before she could do much more than reach for the pantry door, the lights went out, plunging the room into a swift and sudden darkness. The candles she’d lit earlier for atmosphere shed enough light to keep her from completely freaking out, but not enough to make her anywhere near comfortable.

  Taking a couple of deep breaths as she willed herself to remain calm, Serena crossed to the kitchen window. The lights should have gone out in Kevin’s studio as well and he was probably rushing up to the house to check on her right now. But as she peered into the darkness, she realized Kevin’s lights were still on. He had no idea that she was alone in the night.

  Breathe in, breathe out. She repeated the words to herself as she searched the shadowy kitchen for her shoes. She was a big girl, she could handle walking over to the studio by herself. It was simply a matter of keeping calm and—

  “Hello, Serena.”

  A startled scream escaped her and she whirled around, a death grip on the chef’s knife she still clutched in her hand. Her heart beat wildly out of control as she realized that Jack was standing less than five feet from her.

  She started to smile, to laugh off her nervousness with a joke about house calls. But then he moved deeper into the room—closer to the candles and to her—and everything inside of her froze. Dressed impeccably in designer clothes, his hair cut in an expensive new style, he was as beautiful as ever. His angel’s face looked almost pious, if she didn’t look too closely at his eyes. And ignored the pistol dangling carelessly from his fingers.

  “Hello, Jack. I wasn’t expecting company.” Her voice was rusty and harsh-sounding next to his melodious tones. Kevin was right. The words kept repeating in her head like a mantra, as what little of her heart she had left, cracked in half.

  “I wanted to surprise you.” His smile was eerie. “Did you think you could fool me? Living out here in the bayou with that dirty, disgusting laborer? Really, Serena, it’s beneath you.”

  An unholy light glinted in his eyes, and a chill skated up her spine. “What’s going on, Jack?” she asked, trying desperately to ignore the madness staring out at her through his eyes.

  His laugh was unpleasant. “What do you think is happening? I’ve spent ten years waiting for you to notice me, ten years waiting for you to get over your sister. I stayed close, knowing I would be the one you turned to when you were finally able to move on.” His perfect bow lips curled into a snarl. “I even started those ridiculous calls expecting you to turn to me for help. Instead, you’ve been consorting with the most unsavory of characters.”

  Anger that wasn’t quite sane burned in his eyes. “So now, I want you to suffer as I have. I want to see you stripped of everything, totally humiliated, as I’ve been, watching as you let that animal touch you. And then”—his laugh was high-pitched, out of control—“then I’ll make you mine forever. One way or the other.”

  He was insane. Completely, absolutely, around-the-bend insane. How could she possibly have missed it for so long? If she could have had any doubts based on his behavior of the last few weeks, his cold delivery of her torture and possible death sentence would have alleviated them. Whether he had always been so, or if something in the last ten years had pushed him over the edge, she didn’t know. Nor, she realized, did she particularly care. But the thought of Kevin walking into the house, totally unprepared, and getting shot, chilled her more than all the threats Jack was making against her put together. She had to do something and quickly.

  “Jack.” She kept her voice soft and friendly, though she wanted to claw him bloody. “I had no idea you felt that way. I wish you’d told me. We might have been able to—”

  “Shut up!” The first chink in his impeccable armor appeared with the vicious scream. “Stop lying!”

  “I’m not—” She broke off as she heard the gun cock, watched him raise it to chest level and point it at her for the first time.

  “Slut!” His agonized scream ripped through the house, tore up Serena’s spine before she could brace herself against it. “I loved you. I always loved you. And you pay me back like this?”

  His voice broke and he sank shuddering into a kitchen chair, the gun falling to the table with a clatter as he activated the safety. He buried his head in his hands for a moment and Serena tightened her grip on the chef’s knife as she slowly sidled toward the back door.

  Jack’s head came up at her second step, the gun coming up one second later. “Where you going?” he asked, a singsong quality to his voice that creeped her out more than his belief that she was her long-dead sister. “You can’t leave the party so soon.”

  “Nowhere. I just wanted to get something out of the fridge. I’m making gumbo and I don’t want it to get ruined.” Was she seriously talking about dinner with a crazed, gun-wielding murderer?

  “I like gumbo.” His voice was still high-pitched and childlike.

  “I know you do,” she replied soothingly, her mind desperately searching for a way to warn Kevin. “That’s why I’m making it.”

  “You knew I was coming?” A hint of his long-ago charm lit the sudden smile that flashed across his face.

  “I hoped you would.” She pitched her voice low and seductive, fought the intense urge to vomit with everything she had. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Serena.” His eyes were crafty as he studied her. “Come here.”

  And get close enough to let him touch her? Not without a fight. “But I’ve got to make dinner. Remember? The gumbo?” Oh God, Kevin, please stay in the studio. Stay safe.

  “It can wait, can’t it? I’ve been wanting to hold you for such a long time.”

  “Later. I promise.” She nearly choked on the lie.

  “Put the knife down and come to me.”

  Serena’s head jerked at the command in his tone, her startled eyes meeting his suddenly clear ones. “Jack—” She tried a placating tone, but his gun was pointed once again at her. This time he had it aimed at her head.

  “Now.”

  “But how will I—”

  She stopped dead as he cocked the gun. “I’m not an idiot, Serena. Nor am I a child. Now please do as I ask, or, I fear, the results will be disastrous.”

  It seemed it was time to lay her cards on the table. “From what you said earlier, I figure it’ll be disastrous no matter what. So why should I make it easy for you?” If soothing didn’t work, maybe tough would.

  “Because you can die easily or with more pain than you could ever imagine exists. At the moment, the choice is yours. But I’m running out of patience and soon the choice will be mine.” His smile was cruel. “Somehow, I doubt you’ll like my choice.”

  Her fingers went numb and the knife clattered to the floor before she could stop it. He wore the same smile on his face that Damien had worn ten and a half years ago, when she’d answered the door and called her sister to her death. When he’d plunged his knife into her and locked her in the closet. When he’d returned to finish the job.

  What could she possibly have done to attract the attention of two psychopaths in her lifetime?

  And now that she had Jack’s attention, how was she going to get out of this alive? More important, how was she going to keep Kevin alive as well?

  She walked across the kitchen toward him—small, dragging steps designed to buy her time to think. But memories were crowding into her brain, clamoring for attention, demanding that she run as fast and as far as possible. Messing with her ability to think rationally.

  He wore the same cologne Damien had worn so many long years before and the scent made her stomach churn sickly. Calvin Klein’s Obsession. More appropriate than the designer would ever know. That stench of it had stayed with her even
longer than the smell of her sister’s blood. Walking by the counter at the mall always made her queasy and she’d turned down dates from every man who’d ever asked her out while wearing it. How had she overlooked Jack’s predilection for it?

  Her heart beat faster and her breathing turned harsh. Panic crawled through her despite her attempts to keep calm. She was going to die. She knew it, could even accept it if it meant this was finally over and that Jack would spend a big part of his miserable life rotting in jail.

  But she couldn’t stand the idea of him killing Kevin too. Beautiful, talented Kevin whose only fault in this was to fall in love with her. To make her love him back. She couldn’t let that happen. Jack might kill her, but she had to take him with her. Better she die painfully then spend eternity knowing that she could have saved Kevin but hadn’t been brave enough to try.

  She was a few feet away from him when she stopped walking, the beginnings of a plan suddenly forming in her overwrought brain. “Didn’t you hear me?” he demanded. “I said, get over here.”

  “Make me.” Her voice wasn’t as strong as she would have liked, but it didn’t shake either.

  He fired an almost soundless shot at the floor near her feet. She’d been right—it did have a silencer. Somehow the knowledge didn’t make her feel any better. But she used the shot to jump backward, pretending to cower in fear against the kitchen cabinets. Not that it was all pretense. She did have a madman with a gun stalking her.

  “The next one rips through your flesh instead of the floor,” he sneered. “Now move it.”

  “I can’t. Please—” She made her voice tremulous, lowered her lashes as she pretended to look away from him.

  He stalked toward her, swearing. “Get up!” He plunged a fist into her hair and pulled, lifting her up as pain ripped through her scalp. He drew back the hand that held the gun, prepared to punch her. But she whirled at the last second, ignoring the sharp pain in her head at the action. Her hands closed over the handles of the huge gumbo pot on the stove and she turned as she lifted it, dumping the hot broth down his front.