Dangerous Passion

by Lisa Marie Rice

  “About the situation,” she said softly. Her eyes never left his. “I guess we’ll be here for some time, won’t we? I mean, this situation isn’t going to resolve itself anytime soon, is it?”

  Never, Drake thought.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, wanting to say more, but nothing came out. Sorry was a ridiculous word for what she’d lost. A nothing word, totally unable to cover the damage he’d done to this beautiful woman. He’d put her life in danger, deprived her of her home; because of him a good friend of hers had died.

  Sorry was nothing, but it was the only word he had.

  She nodded gravely, as if understanding everything that the word conveyed. There was no censure in her gaze, no anger, no rage.

  Indeed, there was something there that angered him almost as much as the sons of bitches who had attacked them.

  Resignation. That was what he saw. Resignation. Sadness. Acceptance.

  It made him angry. Beyond angry.

  This woman was magic. How could it be that there was no man in her life, protecting her from the shit that was all around? What the fuck was wrong with the men in Manhattan?

  Well, she had a man in her life now, by God. Him. And he would sure as hell make certain she was kept safe and happy.

  Grace lifted her hand, that long, graceful artist’s hand, and cupped his jaw. Her fingers were right on where the long scar had been. If she probed with her sensitive fingertips, she’d feel where the underlying tissue was still rent. Her hand traced where the scar had been as she watched him, frowning.

  “What—” she began, but he covered her mouth with his. Ah, she tasted so good. Sweet and fresh. In a moment, her mouth opened to his. When he lifted his mouth for a second, she took in a deep shaky breath.

  He tilted his head slightly and she did, too. The fit was perfect. So incredibly perfect. The heat of her mouth, the way she curved into him, the way his arm fit around her narrow back, the way her hair fell in a warm wash over his hand cupping her head, cascading over his arm.

  Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her until she was on his lap, arms clinging to his neck.

  Drake moved his mouth to her neck, to the sensitive place behind her ear that made her shiver.

  His hand slid under the sweater, wide palm covering her stomach. Every time his mouth moved, her stomach muscles contracted.

  He kept his hand on her belly and moved his mouth to her ear.

  “Are you still obeying my orders, hmmm?” he whispered.

  He loved it that she’d left all that expensive underwear in the boxes, so that his hands were only one layer of material away from her skin.

  It excited him to see her in clothes he’d bought, looking so elegant and classy, and knowing that underneath she was bare because he’d asked her to be. He could barely keep his hands off her. Even when they weren’t making love, it was so luscious to slip a hand under her sweater and briefly stroke her breasts, just long enough to tighten her nipples. Know that he could easily touch her in that secret soft spot between her legs, feeling her growing instantly damp for him.

  Each time he touched her, it took less time for her body to get ready for him. Now at times it only took the briefest of touches. Of course, the downside was that in her presence he was almost always semi-erect, just thinking of her naked beneath the clothes.

  Like now. Only it wasn’t a semi-erection, it was the real thing, hard and aching.

  Goose bumps broke out on her forearms when he licked her ear and she shivered. Thank God her body was on his side. No matter what her head might be telling her, her body was clear on what it wanted. “No underwear?” He prodded. “Hmm?”

  Her eyes, heavy lidded, opened, blue-green slivers glowing in the darkness. “No underwear,” she whispered.

  “Ah.” His hand moved up over the flat planes of her belly and cupped a breast. He had to be so careful here. His hands were strong, he didn’t want to hurt her in any way. Right now the biggest crime in the world would be causing her any pain at all. So he kept his touch softer than air, just a bare grazing of the satiny skin with his forefinger, around and around. When the back of his finger brushed over her nipple, she jumped. He nipped at her earlobe, loving the soft jolt. She was so incredibly responsive.

  His finger ran over the nipple again, just a little harder. “Do you like that?” he whispered in her ear.

  He could almost hear her smile. “If I said no, you’d know I was lying, wouldn’t you? You can feel what my body is telling you.”

  Oh yeah, her body was shouting. The nipple under his finger had turned from a soft bud into a small, hard point.

  His hand moved to her left breast, where he could feel the fast beating of her heart under his fingertips.

  “Yes, your body is talking to me, Grace. I can hear it, feel it in my hands.” Another gentle rasp of his thumb over her nipple, followed immediately by a little shudder. “You like that. You like my hand on your breasts.” He pulled back, looking her in the face, hand gently cupping her breast.

  She was flushed, the blood rising to her skin, warming it, puffing out a rich aroma of his soap and her woman-scent. Wonderful. It was all he could do to keep from putting his nose to her skin and sniffing like a dog.

  “I like everything you do to me, Drake,” she replied simply.

  Her mouth was flushed red, lips swollen and wet. When she spoke, he didn’t even hear her at first, he was following the movements of those lush lips so closely, fantasizing about them closing over his cock.

  He felt an almost violent need to crush her to him.

  Careful now, he told himself and nearly laughed. The fact that he had to tell himself to be careful was so alien it was as if he were talking to someone else.

  Drake was always careful, always. He never got carried away, never got out of control, never had to worry about hurting anyone unless he wanted them hurt.

  He never hurt women, though, ever. It wasn’t in him.

  He was always controlled during sex, always made sure the woman was wet enough to take him, always made sure his strong hands never bruised.

  It had never been difficult. He’d learned to control his emotions and his body at an age so young he didn’t remember learning the lesson. Control was as deeply ingrained in him as his bones or blood. A part of him for as long as he could remember.

  That control was now simply…gone.

  He just looked at Grace, perhaps the most beautiful woman he’d ever had in his arms. And not just beautiful—an immensely talented artist. So gifted he couldn’t even imagine now having a home where her paintings wouldn’t have pride of place. So gifted, the little peace he’d had in the past year had been thanks to her. Amazingly, too, this woman with the gift of the gods in her hands had a good heart, as well. Was gentle and kind, instinctively so.

  This was a woman in a million. He should treat her like porcelain, like glass that would shatter at his touch. He should get down on the floor on his knees as if before an angel.

  Instead, crazily, his predator’s blood was up. He had to clench his teeth against a growl rising in his throat, a growl of possession, almost violent, like a war cry. His hands itched to grab her, hold her so tightly his fingers would be imprinted on her skin.

  He wanted to rip those clothes off her right now, not even take the trouble to slide them off, but simply hook his finger in the collar of the sweater and pull. Put his hands on the pants and rip them off her. It would be ridiculously easy to do. He could kill a man with one blow of his hands; ripping material was nothing.

  He could picture it, rending her clothes with a snarl of impatience, pulling her down on the rug in front of the fire, pulling her legs apart and up and slamming into her, whether she was ready or not.

  He’d fuck her as hard as he’d ever fucked anyone, like a mindless beast, with the full strength of his body, pounding into her. He was so aroused, he would never stop at the first climax. He’d spurt into her, happy that it would make her wet, and then just continue slamming into h
er, for hours.

  Oh God, he could feel that, taste it. He shook with the images that blossomed in his head. He’d fuck her until she was sore, then fuck her some more. Every cell in his body was screaming to have at her, with all the strength of his body, for as long as he could.

  He’d hurt her.

  If he did what he was shaking to do, he’d fucking hurt her. Hurt Grace.

  It didn’t bear thinking of.

  He’d controlled himself with hundreds of women who didn’t mean a thing to him. It had been easy, ingrained. This one woman, who meant everything, tested his control.

  Drake threw his head back and breathed the desire back down. Such a strange, unusual feeling, this grappling for control with his arms full of warm woman. She shifted, moving her hip right over his erection and froze, like a deer in the hunter’s sights. Her eyes met his, wide open and startled, as if she’d never felt a man’s erection before.

  A log fell heavily in the hearth and she jumped a little in his arms.

  Her nervousness made him force himself into a little calm. They’d made love several times in the night, and this morning. He had to learn how to be with her without tipping over into mindless lust.

  He leaned back and relaxed, content even with just the warm feel of her skin next to his.

  When she realized he was relaxing, she did, too, leaning forward to rest against him with a soft sigh, one finger idly stroking his jaw, lips close enough to his neck to kiss him softly. His body relaxed further and so did hers, until they almost melted into each other. As the minutes ticked into an hour, they started breathing in unison, as if they were one creature, with two heads, four arms, but only one heart.

  There was the sound of the fire, their breaths, and nothing else. Drake felt his mind drifting.

  He was hard as stone, but there was just something about the moment that felt right exactly as it was, something fine and rare. He couldn’t quite pin it down, until he realized it wasn’t something, it was a lack of something.

  His mind was quiet and still, a deep pool, so deep it could not be fathomed.

  Remarkable.

  Drake was used to the continual background hum of calculations in his head, there since before he could remember. When he was a homeless child on the streets, the noise was a constant lookout for food and shelter, while avoiding the many men who preyed on the helpless youngsters infesting the streets of Odessa like rats. His mind had been like a lighthouse beacon, constantly surveying surroundings in a 360-degree sweep. He’d taught himself to remain alert even while sleeping, when he wasn’t in secure surroundings, which had been always, until he started earning good money.

  Drake had lived like this his entire life, constantly alert, calculating the odds, working to make sure they were always in his favor.

  True, his concerns now were not finding food and shelter, and they hadn’t been for a long time. Now he ran an empire, single-handedly. He kept vast amounts of information in his head at all times, an enormous array of data that kept shifting and recombining. In his world, things moved fast and so did he.

  Nothing like that, now. Now his head was filled with peace, a still, golden, calm pond of it, a welcome silence that allowed him to savor this moment, a moment so rare as to be almost incomprehensible. No busy buzz of business, harsh hum of calculations, whirr of thoughts. Just silence and warmth.

  He looked down. Grace was watching him with calm blue-green eyes, lips slightly uptilted at the corners. As if wanting to smile, but uncertain of his mood.

  His mood was great. He smiled down at her, feeling unused muscles moving in his face, delighted to see her smile fully in return.

  He’d never had this before—this slow calm moment, skin to skin, heart to heart. If he held a woman in his arms, he was fucking her. The other moments were undressing or dressing. He rarely lingered after sex.

  Why not? Why had he always been in such a rush? There was something so delicious about this, calm yet exciting at the same time. Not better than sex, not worse, just…different. And good.

  She wiggled slightly, right over his enormous hard-on. “You, um, you seem to be—”

  “Yes, I am.” His smile broadened. It felt so odd to be smiling. “But it’s okay. We’ll make love soon, you can count on it.” She turned pink. Such a pretty color, like a rosy dawn over a white mountaintop. He leaned down to kiss her jawline, then put his lips against her ear. “Once I get in you, I’m not going to stop for a long, long time.”

  She was stoplight red now.

  He shifted her gently so she could lie against him more comfortably, pleased when she moved with him, into him. She rested her head on his uninjured shoulder and looped an arm around his neck, careful of the wound. Every time she touched him, she was careful, he’d noted.

  What an odd sensation, a woman looking after him.

  Drake tucked a lock of bronze hair behind her ear and bent until his mouth touched her ear. “Are you cold, love? Do you want a blanket?”

  He could feel her lips curve up. “No, you’re a furnace. And the fire is still burning high, so no, I don’t feel cold at all.” She sighed. “Drake…how long is this going to last?”

  He didn’t have to ask what “this” was. Men gunning for him, the danger spilling over onto her.

  The rest of our lives. That was how long this was going to last. But she wasn’t ready to hear it yet.

  His arms tightened. “Are you so very eager to get away from here, then? Are you not comfortable? Is there anything you need?”

  Silence. He looked down at her, expecting…he didn’t know what he was expecting. Anger, maybe. Impatience. Sorrow. But she only looked thoughtful.

  “I’m fine, Drake. And thanks to your generosity, I have everything I need and more.”

  He waved away the thanks, watching her carefully. “But?”

  Her narrow shoulders lifted on a sigh. “But…however huge your home is, however comfortable, we can’t stay holed up here forever, can we? When do you think we can venture out? If only to get some fresh air.”

  He was tempted to say that he’d take her up on the roof if she wanted fresh air. Maybe tomorrow, if he could get rid of the helo. His pilots had been making noises lately about taking the helo away for a day of maintenance. Maybe tomorrow would be a good day. If he took Grace up on the rooftop, she might not be ready to know he kept an evacuation helicopter at the ready at all times.

  But the rooftop wouldn’t be enough. She was asking when she could walk the streets freely.

  The answer was never. Not the streets of Manhattan, anyway. She wasn’t ready for that info yet.

  “As soon as I have a handle on the situation, I promise I’ll find a way out. You’ll be free to walk around at some point. You have my word.” She’d be free to walk around, just not in New York. And not in the United States.

  For the moment, Drake wasn’t setting foot outside this building—and more important, wasn’t going to let her set foot outside—until he had finalized his plans and knew where they were going and how.

  Grace watched his eyes carefully. “And you always keep your word, don’t you?” she asked quietly. “That’s important to you, to be a man of your word.”

  She could read him so well. It was frightening.

  It was true, he was a man of his word. Even in the business he was in, his word was his bond. There’d been a goodly chunk of his life in which the only thing he had in this world was his personal dignity. His word. He’d die before he let that go.

  “Yes, I keep my promises. So you’ll see the day again. And when you do, where do you want to go? What do you want to do?”

  “Take a walk in Central Park,” she said promptly. “Go down to the farmers’ market. See some new galleries.”

  Shit, how tied was she to Manhattan? Was she going to suffer if she never saw it again? The thought lay there, heavy in his chest.

  “What about outside New York? What do you want to see outside the city?”

  She looked up at him. �
��The world,” she said simply. “I’ve always wanted to travel. I told you, my dream is to see Rome. Paris, London. And the East. I love reading travel guides and imagining myself in a Tibetan temple or a Hindu mandir. I never had the money before.”

  “I hate to say it, but I’m glad you didn’t take off this past year.” He nodded his head at the overspill of her paintings from his study, simply glowing on the library’s walls. Just like she glowed in his arms. He ran the back of his fingers down the side of her face, slowly, just enjoying the feel of her. “I’m the richer for it.”

  She moved into his hand, smiling. “I hate to contradict you, but I’m the richer for it. You paid me an almost obscene amount of money. I made more last year, thanks to you, than I did in the last ten years.”

  “Worth it,” he said.

  “Do you know, you could have had my paintings for half of what you paid?”

  “Worth it,” he repeated.

  She turned in his arms, smiling, then settled with her face against his neck, breasts brushing full against his chest.

  His cock pulsed hopefully. Maybe now…

  “I’m glad you—” she began, then her eyes opened, fixed on something over his shoulder. “Oh! Just look at that!”

  Drake stiffened, ready to push her to the floor and whirl to face a new danger, when he saw her face. Relaxed. Smiling. Whatever it was she was seeing, it wasn’t a danger to them. He followed her gaze, turning his head.

  Snow.

  Night had fallen while he’d held her in his arms. He hadn’t thought to pull the curtains and the entire wall showed a nighttime Manhattan skyline softened by falling snow.

  He factored that into the equation of how to make the next few days work. Snow made everything slower. People arrived later for work, some didn’t arrive at all. His master forger, Yannick Zigo, was scheduled to deliver new passports tomorrow, together with backup documents. He traveled from Upstate New York. If there was a big snowstorm, he wouldn’t venture out. He often complained that his bones were too brittle for bad weather.

  Grace rolled off Drake’s lap and walked toward the windows, keeping well back from the glass itself. Drake watched her every step of the way, admiring the look of her back, the slim line of her glowing in the penumbra, that glorious multicolored hair that fell past her shoulders swaying gently with each step. She’d only just left him and his hands already missed her, missed the soft skin, the deep indentation of her waist, missed cupping her breasts and touching her where she was soft and wet, just for him.