“What did I do now?” she asked, rubbing her lips against mine.
What had she done?
The list was endless.
She’d yelled at me.
Attacked me when she’d thought I’d hurt her dog.
She’d begged me not to hurt her dog.
Then she’d attempted to end her life to be kept out of O’Halloran’s hands.
She’d smirked in the face of a racist old prick and challenged him by buying a box of tampons.
She talked to her dog like it was a person.
She’d made me laugh.
Fuck her, she’d made me feel.
And I couldn’t tell her any of that without the risk of exposing far more than I could afford.
Knowing that would be the one thing that damned us both, I did the only thing I could do.
I played dirty.
Grabbing the short, stubby tail of her hair, I tugged it back and exposed the arch of her neck, raking it with my teeth.
A hard shudder racked her body.
I didn’t stop.
Chapter 18
Tia
For a minute, I’d thought he was going to say something. Tell me something. My heart had rabbited out of control and I’d braced for whatever might fall from his lips.
But there was nothing.
Instead, he put his mouth to work in other ways, pressing it to my neck, then scraping his teeth along the arch, lingering where I was the most sensitive. I gasped, instinctively going to grab him, only to remember he still held my hands behind my back.
That was when he spoke.
“What do you think this is, Tia?” Cool, emotionless voice a soft murmur, he trailed his lips back up until he could nuzzle the sensitive spot behind my ear. “Do you think this is some fucked-up, twisted version of Beauty and the Beast? Do you have some pitiful idea that you’ve developed feelings for me, that perhaps I’ve come to do the same for you? Do you think that when this is all over, tied up nice and neat with no bloodshed or violence, of course, that I’ll find some remnant piece of humanity within me and that the love of a good woman is all I’ve needed in my life to fill the raging void within?”
It was almost impossible to concentrate on his words, because as he spoke, he stroked. One hand slid under the loose tank top I wore with my pajama bottoms, his rough fingertips gliding over the sensitive skin of my side, then upward.
His free hand still held the loose ponytail I’d gathered my hair into, pulling my head back and exposing my neck.
He looked down at me and the cool distance in his eyes made one thing very clear.
Maybe I’d caught glimpses of Casper earlier, but he’d shoved those traces aside and buried them. I was looking at the same coldly efficient man who’d broken into my house, tranquilized my dog and me, then calmly threatened to kill a trucker.
He cupped my breast and a startled moan escaped as he tugged my nipple. I felt the answering pulse in my cunt immediately and clenched my thighs together.
And he noticed.
Still gripping my ponytail, he slid his other hand down my torso, leaving my breast aching and bereft, while my pussy practically did a tap dance, clitoris swelling and pulsing in gratitude. I jerked against his hold and he merely increased the pressure, drawing on my wrists in a manner that bowed my shoulders backward.
“No answer, Tia?” He bit my lower lip and rubbed me through my pajama pants. “Maybe you know what this is, then. It’s sex. We’re physically attracted and sexually compatible. Some part of your brain is likely responding to the danger you know is out there and you’re drawn to the person you sense can protect you. Yes, I’m dangerous, but O’Halloran is worse.”
He applied more pressure this time, targeting my clitoris, and my brain went into overload, misfiring and sending out messages that translated to Oh, hell and please, more and wait a damn minute...
Logically, a part of me realized he was doing something shitty—using my own body against me in an effort to keep me from pushing him about...something? But I was already so wet, the material of my pajamas slid back and forth over me, the sensation driving me even higher.
“More than likely, that’s all this is.” He bit my lower lip and I shuddered. “But if this is some sort of Stockholm issue you’re developing, I recommend you get over it. You’ll hate yourself for it once this is settled and you’re back in your nice, safe, normal life.”
He peered at me again, green eyes cool, as he slowly let go of my wrists. “Go on now. Back upstairs before I take what it is you’re offering.”
As he presented his back to me, I stood there, shaking.
“Normal,” I spat out, glaring at him hard enough that he should be bleeding from it. “You don’t know a fucking thing about my life, Spectre. But let me tell you...it’s never been normal and up until a few years ago, it was pretty fucking far from nice, too. I wouldn’t know normal if it bit me on the ass. I used to want normal more than anything and it took a damn long time for me to accept that I was better off finding my own normal.”
“You’re right. I apologize. I know nothing about your life. However, that doesn’t change the reality of the situation you’re in. You’re not thinking clearly.”
Oh, you son of a bitch...
Frustration, both sexual and emotional, still churned inside, but they paled next to the anger, the hot, red blur of it blasting through me. It was so overwhelming, I swung my head around, looking for something to throw.
The first thing I saw was a series of knives, mounted on a wall.
The light gleamed off them and that managed to penetrate the fog of fury enough that the other rumblings in my head had a chance to break through.
Okay, we’re not throwing knives. I wasn’t that pissed. A heavy, blunt object maybe, but not knives.
I told you not to go pulling any Stockholm shit, Logical Tia said, looking down her nose at me and pursing her lips.
Bizarrely enough, another Logical Tia appeared. She was different, though. Her voice was less righteous and domineering. She sounded almost like Bianca.
If he’s a monster and all these bad things, why would he care if you Stockholmed on him? Wouldn’t he fuck you and enjoy the side bennies while he could? And why the hell would he care about any of this? Even if he really believes he’s only doing it because he isn’t as monstrous as Tommy, then why didn’t he just dump you and go? Why does he care if you worry about your brother or if you brother worries about you? And why would he apologize?
I stared at his naked back, a million thoughts circling through my mind.
Now the bitchy Logical Tia was quiet.
“You don’t make sense,” I said.
He stilled.
The muscles in his back were already so rigid, if he tensed any more, he might shatter into a million pieces.
My heart hitched as understanding bloomed inside my head.
Neither of the Logical Tias in my head said anything to dissuade me as I took a step toward him.
He braced his hands on the table in front of him—a big worktable that would have looked at home in Mac’s garage where he fiddled and messed with all the DIY projects he claimed to hate. But there weren’t any half-built wooden cabinets or sawed-off two by fours in here.
My brain couldn’t make sense of the pipes and tubing and containers of chemicals and I didn’t really care. My focus was locked on the tall man with his wide shoulders, bowed forward now as he bent over the table, muscles bulging as he gripped the edge. It was focused on the way he lowered his head, the way his hands convulsively tightened as I took another step toward him.
Slowly, I lifted a hand and placed it on his back, between the taut, rigid muscles. He flinched.
“Why would you even care...Casper?”
He didn’t respond, didn’t even move.
Raking my nails down his skin, I took in his odd, unnatural stillness. How could a human be that still? How could any living thing stand so motionless, like he was made of stone?
> It was as if he were frozen in time. Waiting. Wary. Watchful.
Sliding my hand all the way down, I moved to his hip, right above the waistband of the worn, heather gray workout pants. Bringing my other hand up to grip his other hip, I moved in and pressed my lips to his shoulder and my breasts to his back.
“Nothing to say now? You were all full of words a minute ago, big, scary Spectre.”
He spun around, moving with a speed and force that had me staggering back, but even as I fought to find balance, he caught my arms and steadied me, then kept on moving until I was trapped between him and the table.
He caught my chin in his hand and arched my face up to meet his.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
I relaxed in his grip and met his eyes. “I’m trying to figure you out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out!” He half yelled it and as his voice bounced off the walls, his eyes widened, as if he was shocked by the sound of his own voice.
I couldn’t stop the smile that spread over my lips.
His hands tightened convulsively on my hips.
“You know...usually in the Stockholm scenario, it’s the hostage taker who has more control,” I told him. He hadn’t been entirely wrong earlier. This was a dangerous risk I was taking, but for different reasons than he’d meant. He wanted me to think he was a threat to me, that he was dangerous and might harm me.
There was no doubt he was a threat. In some ways, he was the biggest threat I’d ever known.
But if I did nothing, I ran the risk of doing myself more harm.
It was the craziest thing and something that logically shouldn’t make any sense at all.
But looking at him made sense.
Touching him made sense.
Listening to him speak made sense.
Gazes locked, I saw the war waging in his eyes, followed by the resolution as he made his decision. His rejection cut all the way to the bone when he jerked his chin toward the ladder.
“Go.” His expression became colder, features harder, and words more clipped. “Get the fuck out of here unless you’re really ready to start playing by the rules of this game, Tia. And in case you haven’t figured it out yet—you’re not ready.”
He practically wrenched himself away and turned back to the table.
“You’re such a liar,” I said, the words coming out in harsh, ragged bursts. I leaned in and pressed my mouth to his back, then traced my lips over the hot, smooth surface of his skin, like silk stretched over steel. I breathed him in. “I think you are the one who isn’t ready, Casper.”
Catching his hips and squeezing, I pressed myself more fully against him.
A hard shudder racked through him, then he went still again—that strange, predatory stillness that made the hindbrain whisper, Be still, freeze, don’t move, don’t breathe...
Only that message fell on deaf ears.
In the past few minutes, I’d gone and turned into some brazen, ballsy hellbitch with no limits, no boundaries and no sense of self-preservation.
Without thinking, I shoved between him and the table. There was barely enough room and the heat of him scorched me. Before he could jerk back, I grabbed the cheeks of his ass and hauled him against me. His cock was a brand against my belly and I moaned as the want rolled through me.
An answering noise, too animalistic to describe, emanated from him.
I couldn’t hold him where he didn’t want to be, and despite his pretenses otherwise, he most definitely wanted to be right there. He had no willpower when it came to me. There, at least, we were on equal footing.
His chest crushed into my breasts and I could feel the rapid beat of his heart, the heavy, hard rush as he struggled to catch his breath.
Tipping my head back, I stared at him.
His eyes were too wide, too dark.
“If this is just sex, why are you so concerned about anything other than fucking me, Casper?”
He grabbed my head between his hands, staring at me wild-eyed.
“Damn you,” he muttered. “Damn you for making me feel.”
Chapter 19
Spectre
That void in my chest cracked open and things I hadn’t known I could feel spilled out.
I needed to shut this down. Shut her down and end this, before it got out of hand, but it already was and I had no idea how to wrench matters back under my control.
“If this is just sex, why are you so concerned about anything other than fucking me, Casper?”
She stared up at me, taunting, challenging, unafraid—and so damn sexy, so erotic, so unexpected. So everything.
Grabbing her, I cupped her skull between my hands, staring into her hazy, beautiful gray eyes.
“Damn you.” Damn us both. “Damn you for making me feel.”
A faint smile curled her lips. “You think you haven’t made me do the same thing, Casper?”
I groaned, burying my face in her soft, sweetly scented, crazy curls. “You should have walked away when you had the chance.”
“I don’t know if I ever did. I mean, you saved my dog, my brother and my best friend, Casper.” She turned her face into my neck and brushed her lips over my skin.
That soft touch sent a flood of sensation flying through me and I tightened my grip on her, aching. It was a gut-deep, visceral ache—a thirsting, the kind that might never been quenched, or eased.
She kissed her way along my collarbone, then lower, lower.
A hard breath shuddered out of me and I looked down as she started to kneel, only to jerk my eyes away. The thought of stopping this was no longer even possible, but if I kept watching—
My gaze landed on the wall behind her.
It held my collection of automatic rifles. Blood roared in my ears.
“Get up.”
She didn’t move quickly enough so I caught her arms and pulled her upright. I had to get her out of this room. If I had someplace safe to take her—someplace other than here—I would haul her out to the SUV and drive her off my mountain just so I didn’t have to think about her in this room ever again.
But I’d damn well get her out of here.
“Casper—”
“Stop,” I said, barely able to squeeze out the word. Everything about her was life and warmth. Bewildering things I couldn’t understand. What I understood was this room—cold, sterile death. And I wasn’t going to have her hands on me in here. Nor mine on her.
I urged her toward the ladder and she must have sensed something was wrong because she didn’t argue—for once.
Her shoulders slumped a little.
Do it. She thinks you’re pushing her away again. Let her.
But I wasn’t that strong.
When she realized I’d followed her up the ladder, she looked back at me, eyes widening, but I didn’t look directly at her. I focused on closing the concealed room, securing the door and locking it. My hands were shaking by the time I was done—yet one more erratic, out-of-control oddity, one more reason I should push her away.
“This will never go anywhere,” I said harshly. “My life, your life, they’ll never be compatible. I am who I am. I can’t change.”
“Can’t?” She took a step toward me. “Or is it won’t? Or could it be...you don’t know how?”
“Can’t. If that’s something you can live with, if you still want me to take what you’re offering...” I stopped, unsure how even to proceed.
“Do you even know what I’m offering?” she asked, that challenge in her voice once more. “I’m not even sure I know.”
I caught her hips just before she would have pressed her body to mine. Under my hands, her skin was soft and warm and everything about her called to me.
And I was tired of fighting it.
I stooped and caught her up, tossing her over my shoulder. From her perch on the couch, Valkyrie growled softly. “Sit,” I said, not even looking at the dog as I walked by.
I climbed the steep steps to the loft and strode to my
room, heart racing impossibly fast. By the bed, I lowered her to her feet. As soon as I straightened, I cupped her face in my hands and lifted her mouth to mine.
She lifted to meet me, lips parting, her hands gripping my sides, her short, neat nails scoring my skin.
Then she slid a hand between us and curled her fingers around my cock.
Groaning, I backed her up to the bed and half-lifted, half-pushed her down onto it, falling on top of her. She pushed the thin cotton workout pants down my hips.
I tore her shirt off and shoved onto my knees so I could strip her pajama bottoms away, then push her thighs wide.
She lay with her hands at her sides, staring up at me, mouth parted.
Still watching her, I stretched out between her legs and lowered my head until my mouth hovered just a breath away from her pussy. She whimpered and lifted her hips.
The scent of her filled my head and I pressed my mouth to her cunt, flicking my tongue against her clit. She arched up again and I cupped her ass, angling her upward as I feasted.
My cock and balls ached, jealous of the slick honey I’d found, but I wasn’t about to stop until she was moaning and begging for more.
Her hips rolled and pumped and her hands cupped my head, holding me against her. She dug her heels into the bed and pushed up.
“Please...Casper. I want more...”
I pulled back and rolled her onto her hands and knees, tugging until her legs dangled over the side of the tall bed, her toes barely touching while her ass and cunt were exposed to me. I knelt behind her again and spread her open with my hands, spearing my tongue into her pussy, then stopping to spank her and listen as she squealed and rocked.
Slick moisture flowed from her. I gathered it and worked it upward to her ass.
She quivered.
Rising, I bent over, gathering her hair in my free hand and brushing it aside so I could see her face as I pressed my index finger to the tight entrance. She whimpered as I stroked, the frantic rocking of her hips slowing to nothing. I twisted my wrist and she gasped. Pain pinched her features and I went to pull back, but then she moaned and pushed down on me, the tight muscles yielding to me.
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