The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  Brayden shut the door behind him, standing there in his black tux, perfectly tailored for his tall frame, and her heart skipped a beat. He was so incredibly handsome.

  “Did I tell you how great you look tonight?” His eyes ran over her from the top of her—once again brunette—head to the hem of her satin dress. That smile hiding at the corner of her mouth sent a shiver down his spine.

  She couldn’t help but grin as she ran a hand over her curls. Finally, she looked like herself. “Thank you. I think so, about a dozen times. You don’t look bad yourself.”

  Brayden’s smile was soft, as though he held some secret he wasn’t sure he wanted to share.

  “Thank you for the dress. You didn’t have to . . .,” she started.

  One ebony brow rose over those cobalt eyes. “You don’t like it?”

  Not like it? How on earth could she not? The beautiful A-line, strapless dress, made of heavy ice-blue satin, fit as if it were made for her alone. The bodice rode just above her breasts, with only a hint of cleavage showing, the hem floor-length. The only adornment on the entire thing was the sheer, beaded inlay, decorated with silver embroidery and beads, that went from her waist to the floor, an inverted V.

  “It’s beautiful,” she finally answered him. Turning her back to him, she said, “And so is the necklace. You really shouldn’t have.”

  He’d also given her a pendant. The necklace was a sapphire, the size of his thumbnail, or maybe a knuckle, and hung from a twisted rope of silver.

  His gaze ran over her. “Why not? What’s wrong with getting you presents?”

  She thought, or tried to. There had to be a reason. “I don’t know.”

  “Hmm.”

  A chill danced down her spine, and she didn’t know if it was from the open window letting in the cold night air or the hot look from Brayden’s blue eyes.

  “I should . . . uh . . .” The champagne danced through her bloodstream.

  “Should what?” he asked, walking slowly toward her.

  Should what? Who should?

  Oh. “I should go change.”

  He offered her his arm and helped her up the stairs. She tripped and giggled.

  His chuckle glided over her nerves.

  “You, baby, drank too much champagne.”

  Again she giggled. “Maybe. No, probably. Yep, I think I did.”

  Once in their suite, she let go of his arm and started toward her room. “You know what?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “I feel good. Thanks for tonight. It was wonderful.”

  She shut the door and sighed.

  Tonight . . . tonight was . . . a dream. A dream come true. A candlelit dinner, presents, a symphony. Beautiful, like a slow-rising tide in the summertime.

  She faintly heard the pop of a cork through the door.

  Pushing from the door she reached behind her and tried to undo her dress. It laced down the back. No zipper, no buttons, just one long silk ribbon that ran through loops. She’d had to ask for Brayden’s help to do the dress up earlier.

  Now her fingers fumbled again.

  Sighing, she opened the door and walked back into the sitting room.

  “I’m sorry, but I need help with my dress. I can’t get it undone myself.”

  He looked at her for a minute, not moving, a flute in one hand, a champagne bottle in the other. He set the flute on the coffee table, the bottle in an ice bucket, and she turned her back as he walked to her.

  His hands were warm as they weaved the long piece of silver satin through the small loops. Every now and then, his knuckles grazed her backbone and she felt it all the way to her toes.

  She heard him breathing behind her and turned her head to look up at him.

  His eyes rose from what he was doing to hers. His fingers froze and then trailed from her shoulder blade up to her neck.

  “I had no idea, this dress would be so . . .” His gaze dropped to her lips.

  She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

  “Difficult,” he finished.

  What was difficult?

  Slowly he lowered his head, his hand and fingers caressing from the back of her neck, around her jaw, to tip her face further back.

  Again she shivered.

  His eyes stayed open as he came closer. A breath away, he whispered, “I want to kiss you.”

  Licking her lips, she tasted the scent of his aftershave on the air between them. Never breaking eye contact, she said, “Okay.” Slowly turned to face him.

  His eyes held hers as his lips touched her mouth. She slid her eyes closed as his lips lingered undemanding on hers.

  She relaxed with him, and though only their lips touched, he flooded her senses. His gentle coaxing tempted her until finally she kissed him back.

  She wound her arms around his neck and pressed against him.

  Everything was Brayden. Simply Brayden. His arms, tight around her; his mouth, cherishing; his scent arousing and comforting at the same time.

  Slowly, he pulled back, his hand smoothing from her cheek, through her hair.

  His heavy sigh wafted against her lips even as his eyes looked deeply into hers. She wondered what he saw.

  “Was that . . . I didn’t mean . . . Are you okay?” he finally asked.

  She smiled. “I’m wonderful because of you.” Christian ran her finger down his cheek and tapped his chin.

  His brow cocked and he grinned. “I can deal with that.”

  “Thought you might.” She turned her back to him again. “Could you get this undone, now?”

  Some sort of guttural growl came from him, but she didn’t look back as his fingers deftly unlaced her gown, but left the long ribbon in the loops.

  With a jerk, he pulled back. “There.”

  She let go of the dress and it stayed in place. Reaching back she realized he hadn’t undone it all the way, just part of the way and loosened the rest. She watched him walk to the coffee table, where his flute of champagne sat. She licked her lips, one hand holding up the front of her dress, just in case.

  He looked up at her and raised a brow.

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t seem to move. “I should uh—I should probably . . .”

  Alcohol swam through her veins, heated her, swirled pleasant memories of her and Brayden together . . . Pleasant, happy, passionate memories.

  He strode to the silver bucket holding a champagne bottle. After pouring another flute, he handed it to her and said, “No, thank you, Christian. For the best night I’ve had in a long, long time.” He looked at the flute, then said, “Actually, you’ve probably had enough.”

  She sighed. “I love the way you say my name. Don’t know why, it’s just different when you say it.”

  His eyes widened.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” she said, and snatched the flute from his hand. “Not about the champagne, but about tonight.”

  There was that charming smile, dancing all the way to his eyes. “Were you?” He raised his own flute. “Well then, to new beginnings.”

  How could anyone know her so well, without really knowing her at all? Swallowing past the emotion, she looked straight at him and clinked her glass to his. “New beginnings. I like that.”

  Christian took a sip of the effervescent wine. She was warm all over and not just from the champagne. Looking out the window, she watched the city.

  Venice was complex at night. It reminded her of a harlequin, a dottoro, an elegant countessa all at the same time. The fun and excitement of the jester seemed to mirror in the reflected lights of the canal, the secrecy hidden within the shadows masked what was and what could be, the age-old elegance of her sitting through the tides whispered on the breeze.

  New beginnings. She really liked that. There was still so much between them, so much it sparked a pull deep within her, and she was tired of hiding from it because of Richard.

  Damn the monster.

  She didn’t want to think about that, not about Richard, what he’d
done, or what she was doing. All she wanted to think about was Brayden and how she felt safe and happy with him.

  “I love you,” he said to the side of her.

  The words jerked her around.

  “Why?” she blurted out.

  The grin flashed before his deep laughter rumbled across the air, around and through her. “God, woman! Hell if I know.” Shaking his head, he set his flute aside and took hers from her. His palms were warm as he cupped her face. “Hell if I know, but I do.”

  He did. She knew he did, some part of her knew, but another part worried and doubted.

  Brayden watched the anxiety and questions dance in her eyes. “Why do you doubt that?” he asked, tracing her jaw with his thumbs.

  She shrugged. “You don’t know me.”

  Well, when the truth came out of her, it just sort of slammed down between them.

  “True,” he told her. “I know the important things, Christian, or I think I do.”

  “What things?”

  “You’re loyal, kind, you love my family as much as I do and Tori—”

  “You said, before, that it was because we’d been playing house.”

  He closed his eyes. “Forget what I said before, I was a dumb ass. Just forget it all. Well,” he amended, “not all, just the stupid stuff.”

  She tried to turn back to the window, but he held her, her face still between his hands.

  He watched the long column of her throat work as she swallowed.

  “I don’t know what to think about anything anymore, Brayden,” she whispered.

  “You know I love you.” He dropped his hands to her shoulders, and he noticed the shiver as it danced through her muscles. “I’m not just saying that, Christian, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He could see it might be, the doubt flickering there in those smoky eyes. “I’ll admit I’m slow, and you already know what an idiot I can be. But I love you.”

  Her eyes looked down, her lashes sweeping to shutter her gaze from him.

  He sighed. “Have you ever known something, deep inside, it just takes you a while to realize it?”

  After a beat, her gaze rose back to his. “Yeah.”

  She held her dress up with one hand. Damn, he should really let her go change. Looking at her bare back was bad enough, but something about her just holding that satin against her . . .

  “Yeah—um—Well, that’s me.”

  Finally, he saw her lips curve at the corner.

  “You think too much,” she said

  “Isn’t that the pot pointing to the kettle?”

  Her smile reached her eyes, but then she glanced away and the smile faded. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  Taking a deep breath, she looked back up at him, and he felt her straighten under his hands, her shoulders going back just a bit.

  Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “I’ve no right to ask this of you. I know that. But I have to. I want to because . . .”

  “Because?” he prodded when she trailed off.

  “While we’re here. Here in Venice, can we not . . .” She took another deep breath. “Can we not talk about the other?”

  “Other?” he pressed.

  “The—the attack.” She closed her eyes. “It’s too beautiful here, too special, and I only want this to be us. We have to go back soon and then it’ll all be . . . Can the time we have left here be just us? Here and happy?” Her eyes opened and he caught his breath at the intensity in them. “Only us. Please?”

  He thought about it, not that she talked about the attack anyway, so he would play along. Besides, something in him loosened at her words and he smiled. “I thought you mentioned something about there not being an us.”

  “No.” Her grin answered his. She tapped his chest. “That was you.”

  “Well”—he waved it away—“that was one of those stupids.”

  She shook her head then asked again, “Please?”

  Brayden picked their flutes back up, handing hers back to her. “I’ll try. Sometimes it’s hard, but I don’t see a problem with Venice just being us, if that’s what you really want.”

  “It is. I know you get aggravated with me. Just please, try and be patient.” She huffed out a breath and mumbled, “I’ve no right to ask you that either as you’ve already been so patient.”

  The woman made his head spin sometimes. “I’ll be patient. That’s my middle name.”

  Her laughter rang out. It had always reminded him of darkened pleasures, velvet and chocolate, something sought after because it seemed almost forbidden. The full, rich sound tightened his gut. He’d missed that sound. Missed it so much, his chest squeezed.

  She raised her flute. “To us?”

  Brayden pulled her to him with one arm, clinking their glasses just before she came back into contact with his chest. Her satin bodice whispered against his shirt.

  Us. She wanted Venice to be about them and only them. The gods were smiling on him tonight.

  Looking into her eyes, as he had before, he chanced another kiss.

  “To us.” Then he lowered his head to hers, catching the spark of something deep within her eyes before they slid closed.

  The kiss was chaste, just a gentle press of lips, but he wanted more. When she sighed in his arms, he opened his mouth and teased the seam of her lips with his tongue. He waited for her to stiffen, but she only leaned into him.

  Gently he waited, teasing . . . asking . . .

  Finally, her lips parted beneath his, and though he wanted to kiss her with everything in him, he didn’t.

  Brayden held back, waited and prayed.

  When the tip of her tongue touched his, he couldn’t hold the grunt in or the smile that spread across his face.

  She angled her head and he let her deepen the kiss, take it as far as she wanted to go.

  Oxygen was important. Some part of him remembered that as they both pulled back from the kiss.

  Her smile, twinkling in her eyes, was all he needed to see.

  “That was—nice. Yeah.” Her eyes were locked on his lips. “Nice.”

  Christian took a breath and grabbed the back of his head. With a jerk, she locked her lips on his, eager to make him understand what he meant to her, the kiss was all raw need . . . need of safety, of cherishment, of love and banishment of terror. She wanted the power back. One of them gentled the kiss, she had no idea who, and it hardly mattered.

  She angled her head and deepened the kiss, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, demanding he kiss her back. The black strands of his hair were silken tresses between her fingers. His arms slid around her and wrapped around her back, pulling her hard against him.

  Christian’s heart thundered, roaring blood through her veins, but it had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the feelings Brayden coaxed her to feel.

  One hand moved from her back, along her ribs, his thumb grazing the side and underneath her breast.

  Christian gasped and jerked back.

  His eyes stared deep into hers, and the expression in the dark blue was one she’d never seen before.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . God, Christian, I’m sorry,” he said on a ragged whisper, pulling back from her.

  He straightened and licked his lips.

  The truth suddenly slammed into her. Brayden Kinncaid was as nervous and scared as she was. Christian wasn’t stupid, she knew and felt what was between them. It was the same intense feelings she’d carried for the man for the last several years, feelings that had only intensified since they’d finally made love months ago. But now . . . now, the other stood between them, dark and ugly. He was afraid he was reminding her of it, she could see that now.

  Clearing her throat, she reached up and touched his cheek. The muscle in his jaw bunched under her hand. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and she had to turn his head to her. “Brayden, look at me.”

  Muttering under his breath, he complied, both brows arched.

  �
�Stop it,” she said.

  “What?”

  How could she explain this to this man? The Kinncaids were a different breed of men in her opinion. They often seemed they should be in another time, when men protected and gave all for what was theirs. When nothing and no one stood in the way of what was considered important.

  Swallowing, she tried, “Stop it—this. You didn’t scare me. You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  Wondering if this night would now be laced with tension, she dropped her hand and looked across the water. It was a foggy night.

  Finally, she said, “I’ll let you know if something you do bothers me.” She looked back at him. “Okay?”

  With one long, blunt-tipped finger, he scratched the corner of his mouth. “That’s just it. I don’t want anything to bother you.”

  “Well, that makes two of us. But I don’t want to spoil this between us because we’re both worried I might react a certain way.” She took a deep breath and confessed, “You keep him away.”

  “What?”

  She realized her dress was slipping and pulled it up. She felt ridiculous, but she needed him to understand. Licking her lips, she tried again. “You keep him away.”

  He didn’t say anything, didn’t move. Finally, she chanced a look up at him.

  Brayden’s head was cocked to the side, studying her in that intense way of his.

  Hurrying, trying to make him understand, she rushed through the rest of it. “When I’m with you, talking, laughing, or . . .” She smiled at him. “Or kissing. It’s you. Just you. You drive everything else away.”

  His grin grew. “I guess that’s nice to know.”

  “You guess?”

  He pulled her gently back into his arms. The warmth from his sigh tickled the hair at her temple.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I guess.”

  “Hmmm.” She reached up with one hand and kissed him, ran her hand down the front of his tuxedo. Words she was scared to say hovered on the end of her tongue. She took a deep breath. “I want you to keep him away.”

  He straightened under her hand. “What are you saying?”

  Chapter 14