“Mr. Westin?”
Sugar screamed, spurting and spinning. The butler stood behind her. She took a choking breath. Water dribbled down her shirt, and she choked again. What—are all butlers on stealth mode? Of course they were; they’d been trained by Jared Westin, operative extraordinaire. “Sorry, my bad.”
She wiped at her shirt, again noticing how greasy her hands were. Oh, that’s hot. A shower was high on her priority list.
His expression unreadable, Jared crossed his arms. The butler appeared unfazed. After all, he did work in a hotel that had just been the scene of a gunfight, and as far Sugar could tell, the Abu Dhabi’s version of the cops hadn’t shown up.
The theme song to Cops played in her head, uninvited. Sugar took a long chug of water. She definitely needed to sober up more than she’d thought.
Jared shared a knowing glance with the butler. “A little help in the kitchen, my man. Black coffee and food that’ll soak up Jose.”
“Patron,” Sugar corrected.
“Patron,” he said to her, none too thrilled at her correction. Then he turned his attention back to the butler. “Maybe some breakfast. Pancakes. Waffles. Something. No raisins.”
She raised her eyebrows, but he nodded to the butler and walked away while dialing his phone.
No raisins? So now the bastard has a sliver of a heart, and he pulls a thoughtful moment out of his well-shaped ass.
“I’m going to wash my hands.” She found a washroom in the hallway, where the décor was masculine. Very Titan and very lived in. She wondered how often he stayed there. How many other women had his butler made breakfast for? She knew she shouldn’t care, but her mind wandered anyway.
After only enough time for her to speculate on the inner workings of Jared’s head, the butler knocked on the ajar washroom door and invited her to the dining table. Heavenly aromas drifted out the kitchen before she could say Top Chef: Abu Dhabi.
Jared came back with a mug of coffee and flipped a chair around so that he could straddle it. He nodded to her empty water bottle. “You need some coffee?”
“No. Thanks, though.” Her sobering was in full effect. So was exhaustion. She needed to sleep, but that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. Not while people were trying to kill her. Not when she wondered about how she was falling for a man who, to the best of her knowledge, had never had a single long-term relationship. Just like her.
Plus, caffeine would make her jittery, and that wouldn’t help anyone. Staying awake and being exhausted was the best plan. “What’s on our agenda? I can’t stay squirrelled away in a hotel room forever.”
The butler appeared with an orange juice for her and two plates of pancakes. Jared’s fingers flexed around the mug, and he remained mum. A twinge in her stomach said he was holding back. He tapped a finger on the lip of the cup, drumming through the steam. He was holding back. Big time.
“Jared?”
He put the coffee down and cracked his knuckles, one at a time. “You think this is your fight, Sugar.” His cadence was slow, thought out. The tone was patriarchal.
“It is.” Her speculation was right on. Something was up. The worst seemed likely. Her stomach twisting, she nodded him on, willing him to understand what she needed. Maybe not all of the fight was hers, but she definitely owned a good portion of it.
“You’ll hate me, and that’s fine. I don’t care. GSI’s out of your league. At least when they’re rappelling elevator shafts. You and Kip, one-on-one, I’d bet on you. You’re smart, know your weapons. But you versus all of them—I’d rather have you somewhere safe.”
What? Not a chance. “Jared—”
“No discussion.” He took a long sip from his mug. “Until this hotel is clear, you stay within my eyesight. The boys will line up whoever they find, interrogate them, and we can leave. I’d guess mid-morning.”
“Leave? Like go home.”
“Yeah, you know a different definition, baby cakes?”
“We can’t just leave.”
“Why the hell not?” He put his mug down, pinched his brow, then dug into his pancakes while still straddling the backward-facing chair.
“I’m not leaving Asal.”
The fork stopped midway to his mouth. His head dropped forward. She had no doubt that he’d forgotten about the girl. Well, to hell with him.
He took his bite and chewed like he was gnawing on cement. “Sugar, what do you expect me to do with her? You pulled her out of a bad situation. Feel good about that. She’d have died on the mountain. Now let the UN gal do her thing. Put Asal in a safe home.”
“You mean orphanage?” she spat, slapping her hand on the table. The silverware rattled. The tiny flicker of her appetite was long gone.
He took another bite, then another. “I don’t know what you want from me. What did you think you could do, just hang out with her in this hotel for the rest of your lives? Shit.”
She shrugged. The future seemed far away. She hadn’t thought about what she wanted—or what Asal needed. Her thoughts were running faster than she could keep up. “Well, no. Not a hotel necessarily…”
“Wait. What?” Jared dropped his fork. The clatter echoed like the chaos in her life. Loud and obnoxious. “Where did you think you and Asal might hang out?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it until right now.”
“And now you’re thinking… what, Sugar?”
“Maybe she could come home with me.” It was a whisper. A revelation. An oh-my-God moment when she realized something life-changing had just clicked. She cleared the cobwebs from her voice and narrowed her eyes, willing him to understand how strongly she felt. “I want her to come home with me.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of paperwork and time commitment you’re talking about? The red tape alone—”
“You’re an ass. For a second, I thought you weren’t a cold heartless bastard.” A harsh laugh bubbled from deep within her chest, catching her off guard and reiterating her feelings. This would happen, with or without the great Jared Westin. “I need your help. I don’t ask for help. Ever. Here’s me, doing a first. Help.”
“Sugar—”
“Jared. You’re talking about an orphaned kid as though she was a package to be declared at customs. She’s going to go to an Afghani orphanage. You get that? You know what that’s like out here? Hundreds of kids, waiting for a lotto ticket. It never happens. So fuck you. She’s coming home with me. You’re the goddamn doer and fixer of everything. Master of the fuckin’ universe. Fix this. Figure it out.”
She slapped the table, and her hands stung. She hadn’t realized that tears brimmed and were sliding down her cheeks. Needy and helpless, she was showing Jared… herself, not the façade she presented to the world. On display, she was vulnerable and wanting something she didn’t know how to get. Asal, not Jared. Maybe both. “Screw this. I have to go.”
Sugar had been a burden as a child, and it was awful. To feel unwanted… she shook her head, needing to escape from her thoughts, but she couldn’t. An unwanted child in an unwanted marriage was hard enough in working class America. But to be an unwanted kid in a third world orphanage? Hell no. Not going to happen. Her mind catapulted through everything her mother and father had made her feel. Abandoned. Obnoxious. Useless. She could do better than they had. She could provide Asal something much better than an orphanage.
She shoved herself away from the table, not noticing Jared standing over her, and slammed into a brick wall of warm muscle. She wondered how long ago she had slipped into her memory daze.
He wrapped his arms around her and petted the back of her head. He was hugging her. Hugging. It made the tears fall faster, and she buried her face in his embrace.
“It’s okay. You’re fine,” he soothed. The deep timbre of his voice didn’t sound like the mechanical lines Titan recited to rescued victims. It sounded heartfelt. A new swell of tears fell.
“It’s not.” She sniffled. “Nothing’s all right. Everything I want is j
ust out of my reach.”
He pulled back. How appropriate.
Then he palmed her hand, rubbing his other hand over her knuckles. “Sugar, we’ll get it figured out. Let me grab you some clothes, and you can take my bed. Catch some z’s, and it’ll be okay.”
He pulled her tight again. She should’ve leaned away. She needed to shield her heart. But she couldn’t. Her muscles melted into his. He smelled amazing. All natural and male. A hint of gunpowder and coffee.
“Sugar?”
“Yes?”
“Every man in that club wanted you to look his way tonight. And I wanted to kill each one. I need you to know that. If Asal’s that important to you, I’ll figure it out. You believe me?”
“About which part?”
“Lord, woman. You drive me crazy.” He tilted her chin up, wiping the tears away. “I don’t like to see you cry. I don’t want to see you upset, and I don’t want some dickhead eyeball-fucking you.”
She smiled, feeling, for the moment, cared for, and ignored the niggling temptation to run away. “I need a shower.”
“No invite? Thought you lifted the embargo.”
“I need to shower and get some clean clothes.”
“An objective I can handle.” Placing his palms on her cheeks, he held her gaze. “I’m glad you’re here, and not because it’s safe. I like you here with me.”
He leaned over, brushing his lips over her bottom one, sucking it into his mouth and stealing her heart. Her eyes fell shut. For that second, she lived in the present, when neither of them had battles to fight. The soft slash of his probing tongue pushed her lips apart. She flexed her fingers into his shirt, clawing her nails against cloth-covered skin. Her heart raced, and arousal pulsed deep inside.
She fought for the kiss. His lips burned her alive. Soft and hard. Sensual and domineering. He walked her backward, until they collapsed against the wall. His teeth raked down her cheek, then her neck. A moan erupted past her lips as he devoured her skin, teasing her collarbone, tearing the strap of her tank.
“Sugar, baby, you deserve better than me. But I think we both want to see where this goes.” He threaded his fingers into her hair. Twisting. Tugging. Teasing. His tongue continued its torture.
“Yes.” The word sounded as aroused as she was. She was still covered in grease and smelled like an elevator shaft. “I really need a shower.”
“I can’t promise,” he said, husky and low, “that I’ll keep my hands off you tonight, but I will make sure you get enough rest to survive until we’re home. Shower, and I’ll be waiting for you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
With the water turned off, Sugar watched the droplets flow down her arms and off her fingertips. She didn’t know what to do with herself as Jared’s words tumbled in her subconscious. I’ll be waiting for you.
The bathroom was like a sauna. Steam clouds rolled through the large room. Surrounded by foggy mirrors and steam, she shivered. Goosebumps raced down her arms and legs as though his words were tangible, stroking over her damp skin. Conflicted and confused, she didn’t understand why his one-liners squeezed her heart. They couldn’t be meant to penetrate as deeply as they did. He was a playboy. His lines were his tools. She wasn’t stupid. Or maybe she was, and denying that his sentiments held truth was simply moronic.
The solid-wood bathroom door separated them. Jared wouldn’t barnstorm the bathroom and tangle with her like they had in her hotel suite earlier. She knew it in her bones. He would wait her out because he had said this could be different and that he cared. And he’d promised not to hurt her.
She was naked and hidden by a wall. She considered wrapping herself in a towel. Not like that stopped him before. But in her suite, it’d been all freestyle sex. This would be different. The register of his voice and the strength in his hold had said so.
“What are you waiting for?” she whispered to her fogged reflection in the mirror.
Her nerves were popping like fizzy champagne. The booty embargo lift was in full effect. Even her emotional veil had inched back. Before, it’d been playtime. Now, Jared had strong words and serious looks.
Chaos and emotion reigned in her brain. Her palms felt ready to detonate the second she walked out the door. And that had nothing to do with sex.
Go time. She grabbed a robe, tied it snugly, and cracked the door. Across from the bathroom, Jared was propped against the wall, brooding.
Bulging, bare muscles crossed his chiseled chest. Gray sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips. A dark trail of hair smattered from below his belly button to the teasing waistband.
Her throat ached. Her stomach somersaulted. “You’ve been waiting long?”
“Longer than I realized.” He stepped toward her on bare feet. They locked in a trance as the heat of the steamy bathroom enveloped them.
With a flick of her wrists, she displayed her hands. “Had to scrub all that grease off my fingernails.”
“Not what I meant.” His words came out in a guttural growl, making her muscles clench. He took another step closer. “You’re unbelievable.”
Jared unfolded his arms. Rippled muscles and skin pulled taut across his broad chest. He closed the space between them before she could say something to ruin the magic.
She hesitated. “What if GSI shows up? Firebombs the door. Catches us… not paying attention.”
“Impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible.” Case in point, she was standing with the half-naked Boss Man in his hotel bathroom.
“Then improbable.”
“Oh, you got lines.” A joke. A jab. Justification for her distrust. But it didn’t feel like typical alpha stuff. It felt intense. Hot. Needy. When he talked, her body quaked. Her mind listened.
“The only thing I’ve got tonight is you.”
And that, she heard. His fingers floated down the fabric of her robe, gliding from her shoulders to the sash, and toyed with the knot. “You need a change of clothes?”
“Eventually.”
Arousal flashed deep in his black eyes. “Eventually. Noted.”
She could’ve pulled up her protective shields. Relationships should be defined as disasters. Some couples could pull them off; most couples couldn’t. Not that Jared was offering coupledom.
Sugar would never chase a man after he’d lost interest. No way would she turn a spineless blind eye like her mother had.
The more entangled she and Jared became, the harder she would fall, and the more it would hurt when he walked away. She would keep her pride, and he would never look back. Whatever Jared’s current interest was with their spark, it would smolder and eventually die.
“Sugar?” Jared melted his body against hers, hands moving to her hips. “Lost you for a sec’.”
“No. I’m here.”
“Bullshit, woman. One second, you’re all…” He purposely raked his gaze over her, studying her curves as though they hid his promised land. “But now you’re closed off.”
“Imagining things, J-dawg.”
“J-dawg? The nickname of defense mechanisms. Now, I know I was right.” He nipped her earlobe. “Lilly.”
She flinched in his arms and turned to face him. Nose-to-nose with him, her eyes flared. “My name’s Sugar. I don’t go by Lilly.” That was the name her parents gave her. That was a weak name. The name didn’t hide the softer side that she’d decided to bury long ago.
A heaven-sent smile made her knees shake. “It suits you.”
“The names aren’t interchangeable.” She wanted to wrap the robe tighter, to run away from the bruised nerve that he had no idea he’d stomped upon. But she wasn’t going anywhere, not when he smiled and looked and smelled the way he did. He was all suave alpha male on a mission, and his spiel was straight truth serum.
“I like Lilly, Lilly. You can’t make up rules and expect everyone to play by them.” He loosened the sash and slid a hand under the robe to her barely damp hip. Rough and strong, the contact was simple and erotic. A wave of shivers ri
oted across her skin, from her breasts to belly and beyond. The pads of his fingers flexed into her skin. “I play by my own rules. Thought you’d know that by now.”
She knew. Sighing, she let his hand explore her stomach. Sweet mercy, we’ll never make it into his bedroom. She would be a puddle of mush. Jell-O legs and spaghetti arms. Pulling it together was more than necessary. The embargo might’ve been trashed, but her heart still needed swaddling. He was a damn visceral vice that hulked half-naked in front of her, but she could survive this obsession.
“I like control.” She tried to sound convincing, but it came out a whisper. “Rules. Mottos. Mantras. Have them for a reason.”
He pulled the sash loose and let the ends fall free to dangle by her sides. His palms slipped over her nipples. Traitorous tits. They’d been begging for his attention, and he noticed, teasing each mound with a massage that would make her climax if he wasn’t careful.
“You think I don’t have a code? Fuck it. Let’s forget my T-and-A tenets and your guard-your-heart statutes.” His thumbs and forefingers teased until her eyes closed and her body went soft against his.
Guard my heart? Her bottom lip quivered, and she didn’t try to stop it. “I’m not in a good place to negotiate.”
“So don’t. Give me the sincere Sugar. I like to play with the ball-bustin’ Sugar, but bench her tonight. I want the real deal.”
“I’m—”
“Nope. Don’t lie to me.” He brushed his lips down her neck. His teeth dragged, ordering lightning bolts to rappel down her spine. “Don’t hold anything back with me. Ever.”
“Ever?” She rolled her neck, allowing him full access. He was asking for a lot. But she could trust him.
She could… right? Yes. She could. She would.
“Ever,” he growled. The authority in the word and the iron-clad strength in his tone made it a commitment that she could agree to.
“Okay.” A weight in her chest lightened. Wait. The foggy mirror reflected a fresh scar on his shoulder. Sugar stalled, turning for a better look. “This is recent.”
“Shrapnel. Doc got it all out.” He went back to her neck. “Won’t say it doesn’t still hurt.”
Westin's Chase (Titan) Page 10