Wick swallowed past the knot in his throat. Ah, hell. Talk about bad etiquette. He was half-dressed, for fuck’s sake. “Shit. Sorry. I’ll put a shirt on.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s a good look for you.” As he blinked, wondering what the hell she meant, she asked, “Is it okay if I come in?”
Unable to find his voice, Wick nodded.
Weighed down by the walking cast, she limped over the threshold. He frowned as his gaze slid over her. Favoring her right side, she kept her elbow tucked against her rib cage as though one wrong move would send pain spiraling. He bit down on a growl and, tapping into her bio-energy, read her vital signs. Fucking hell. She was still hurting. Not a lot, but enough for him to want to kick his own ass.
He should’ve known one go-around with him wouldn’t be enough. Not after the injuries she’d sustained. So time to jump back on the energy train. She needed another infusion, and compulsion dictated he feed her again. Provide what her body needed to heal up nice and tight.
“Jamison,” he said, hearing the anticipation in his voice. He couldn’t help it. The thought of touching her did something odd to him. Instead of reacting with revulsion, the prospect excited the hell out of him. “Come here.”
“In a minute.”
Wick’s brows collided. What the hell did she mean in a minute? “You need more healing energy. I can help if—”
“I know,” she said, closing the door behind her. The click sounded loud in the silence, cranking him tighter as she made her way past the fireplace and over to the custom bookcases. Jammed full of hardcovers, the floor-to-ceiling built-ins occupied one corner of his room. With a hum of pleasure, she ran her fingertips over a colorful spine. “Tania explained all the Meridian stuff.”
“She did?”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder. Her attention bounced from him to the unmade bed.
Shoved up against the wall, the king-size mattress and box spring sat on the floor. No bed frame. No silk sheets or froufrou pillows. Nothing fancy. Just a tangle of sheets twisted up in the middle of Serta’s finest. Wick grimaced. Not his finest hour. Half-dressed. Messy bed. Trashed workstation. Maybe he should’ve tidied up a bit. Made a good impression and dazzled her with neatness, but…
Well, it was too late for that.
His slob-like tendencies were out of the bag. So was his habit of tossing damp towels into the corner beside the door. A fact she’d already noticed (goddamn it). Daimler usually took care of that, but with preparations for the mating ceremony in full swing, the Numbai had been too busy to make the rounds. Add that catastrophe to all the canvases stacked against the far wall and… yeah. He wouldn’t be getting the award for Tidiest Male of the Year anytime soon.
Stepping around his easel, he scooped the duvet off the floor, folded it into quarters, then set it on the end of his bed. As he relinquished the load, Jamison slipped the book she held back into its spot. Her focus narrowed on the canvases leaning against the wall by the window. Nervous tension got the better of him. Not sure what to say, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and waited—for inspiration to strike, for her to break the silence first, for the moment she gave him the green light to touch her again.
Pain or not, the decision was hers. Which meant he’d better start praying ’cause… shit. It wasn’t looking good so far.
“Wow,” she said, stopping in front of a stack of paintings. Fingering the white edges of the canvas frames, she ran her hand over the top of the first group, then moved on to the next. At least forty pieces strong, the collection represented the work he’d done over the last eighteen months. “Did you paint all of these?”
“Yeah.”
Her gaze skimming the artwork, she smiled, and his heart flip-flopped, somersaulting inside his chest. Did she like what she saw? The artist in him wanted to know… to be appreciated for his efforts. The more practical side of him scoffed. He didn’t paint for anyone but himself. The pastime helped him relax, giving him an outlet after a hard night of fighting. End of story. No need to court anyone’s praise. But as he watched her flip through painting after painting, Wick craved a good word. Anything that would tell him what she thought about his work.
Which was so much bullshit. And the entire reason he never showed anyone his art.
Not even Venom.
Other than Daimler—and now Jamison—no one knew he painted. All right, so all his brothers-in-arms knew about his love for art. They would have to be blind not to notice. The evidence hung the length of the corridor outside his room… all over the lair for that matter. But he never talked about it, and none of the other Nightfuries knew the extent of his obsession. Or rather… passion.
Given half a chance, Wick preferred to keep it that way.
He’d involved Daimler out of necessity. At first, he’d disliked depending on another. Over time, however, the Numbai had proven to be a true partner, keeping him well stocked with painting supplies, helping him hunt down and purchase precious works of art from all over the world while sneaking every bit of it past the other warriors. All without complaining or sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.
Awesome didn’t begin to describe the male.
“Holy moly, Wick.” Pure, unadulterated awe on her face, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “These are gorgeous. How long have you been painting?”
“A while,” he murmured, his gaze on hers. The wonder he spied in her eyes sent him sideways. Pride surfaced, filling him so full he struggled to contain it. Jesus. He got off on her admiration. But more than that, Wick loved the way she looked at him. Interest tinged by a sharp sense of longing rode her expression, making him feel valued. Worthy. Like an upstanding male deserving of her attention. “Almost twenty years.”
“You need to hang these. They belong in a gallery.”
He shrugged, hiding his pleasure. “I’m not the gallery type.”
“No, I don’t imagine you are…” She paused, and turning toward him, crossed the room on a slow shuffle. “You’re too modest for that.”
Wick stifled a snort. Totally laughable. He was about as modest as a peacock in full preen. He just preferred to fly below the radar before he showed his true colors, that was all.
Limp more pronounced than before, she skirted the end of the bed. Giving him a wide berth, she walked behind him. His skin tingled as her aura flared, ringing her body, making her glow from the inside out. Wick inhaled deep and exhaled smooth. She stopped at his workstation and, reaching out, fingered his brushes, then turned her attention to the assortment of tubes littering the tabletop. She touched each one, bypassing blue, green, and red to pick up ochre yellow.
Wick shifted his weight from one foot to the other. As his bare feet brushed over the wood floor, he flexed his hands, telling himself to be patient, but… Jesus. Less than five feet away. She stood so close, yet still too fucking far away.
His dragon half urged him to move, close the distance and walk up behind her. Instinct warned him to wait. Attuned to her mood, he felt her tension as clearly as his own. She was stalling for a reason. Maybe for time. Maybe for space. Maybe for a bit of both. Whatever the case, Wick refused to rush her. If she needed him to back off and—
“All right,” she whispered, the strain in her voice palpable as she turned to face him. Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze head-on. “I’m ready now.”
Concern washed through him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.” The rough edge of his voice made her flinch. “I want your honesty. Every bit of it, Jamison.”
“All right. I guess I owe you that much,” she said, looking so unsure he bled for her. “Being alone with you makes me nervous. I know it’s stupid. I mean, you’ve touched me before and everything, but right now I’m…”
He raised a brow as she trailed off.
She bit down on her bottom lip. “Extremely coherent. As in, no drugs in my system.”
�
��Are you afraid I’ll hurt—”
“No,” she said, her denial so quick it soothed his pride. Made Wick believe he could help her while he helped himself. “I know you would never hurt me.”
“But?” he asked, prompting her, encouraging her to talk to him.
A furrow between her brows, she looked away, then back again, letting him see her vulnerability. The sight made him ache for her. He knew what it felt like to be insecure and uncertain. To live with unease every damned day. But as he waited for her to continue, patient in the wake of her silence, Wick wanted nothing more than to soothe her. To carry her burden, banish all the angst and replace it with comfort and confidence.
“Look, if you really want the truth, I’ll be honest. I came in here with every intention of getting close to you, but one look at you, like that and… God, Wick. You’re so strong. So much bigger than I am, and…” Shaking her head, she blew out a shaky breath. “It’s second nature for me to protect myself. My track record sucks. I’ve never been with a guy who hasn’t hurt me, and even trusting that you won’t, I’m just… I don’t know… freaking out a little.”
“I understand, Jamison.” He really did. His hands-off policy predated the Second World War. A helluva long time to live in darkness, without the warmth of another’s touch. But here… right now… in the presence of a female he couldn’t resist, Wick saw a chance to change tack and head in a healthier direction. Fear was a terrible thing, and trust more than just about knowing. It was about showing. So instead of backing away, he took his hands from his pockets and stepped toward her. When she didn’t shy, he raised his arm and held out his hand, palm up, in invitation. “Come, vanzäla. Let me show you how gentle I can be.”
The entreaty surprised him. The meaning behind it even more so.
He’d never thought of himself as a gentle male. A killer without conscience? Without a doubt. But as Jamison slipped her much-smaller hand into his, trusting him to keep his word, Wick reevaluated, seeing himself in a new light. Maybe change was possible. Maybe he wasn’t destined to be alone. Maybe… just maybe… he’d finally met his match.
With a gentle tug, Wick drew her into the circle of his arms. J. J. shivered in reaction, but let it happen. Resistance wouldn’t help her solve the mystery. Nor give her what she longed to collect… answers that would unlock the paradox he presented. Intense warrior vibe. Comforting touch delivered by gentle hands. Delicious dichotomy. Beautiful polarity. And as she waited—breath hitching, heart thumping, uncertainty rising—she wondered what he would do next.
Pick her up. Lay her down. Strip her bare.
All seemed like excellent possibilities. The kind most girls wanted. Problem was…
She wasn’t most girls. Not with her past and prison record. History had taught her caution. Her ex had taught her fear. So the question—the one she really needed to answer… and fast—went something like: respond with the desire she already felt or run scared?
Her hand still in his, J. J. exhaled long and slow. Such a big decision. So little time to decide which way to jump. Stay and discover. Or run and hide. The second option was the safest, but the first tugged at her, urging her to be brave. To move forward instead of away. To take what she wanted for a change and seize the moment.
So few opportunities, after all, ever came her way.
Good thing fate had a funny sense of humor, tossing her into circumstance, feeding on her curiosity, making her yearn to know him. Really know him every way a woman could a man. And as he closed his arms around her, and she settled into the hard curve of his body, J. J. let it all go. Every bad deed done. Every hurt suffered. Every punishment received. She deserved to know. Had earned the right to explore, and to a little happiness. So here… now… today, she would find the courage to reach for what she wanted. No fear. No second guessing. Self-preservation be damned.
The thought made her smile.
His eyes reflected her mood, shimmering like golden stars as Wick pressed her closer. Her palms met the wall of his bare chest and… oh my. Skin on skin. The zap of physical and emotional connection, two souls reaching out to touch each other. Instant recognition. J. J. perceived the shift, felt her world tilt on its axis, heard his low growl before she relaxed and leaned in, moving toward the inevitable instead of away.
Her cheek brushed the wall of his chest, then touched down over his heart. The steady thump picked her up, making hers catch and tumble until it kept time with his. Unable to resist, she caressed his shoulder. Muscles rippled beneath her fingertips, chasing her chill away.
“Beautiful,” she whispered, her head nestled beneath his chin. In an exploratory frame of mind, she played, allowing her hands free rein. Her touch soft, she stroked over his biceps, then changed direction. Brushing over the tops of shoulders, she moved lower to draw gentle circles down his spine. A tremor rumbled through him. She sighed, marveling at the incredible size and strength of him. “You’re always so warm.”
“Curse of a fire dragon.”
No way. Not even close to a curse. She liked that his temperature ran hot. “Do you breathe fire?”
“Kind of,” he said, his voice hoarse as she continued to caress him. Getting in on the action, Wick flicked at her T-shirt. J. J. sucked in a quick breath as his hand dipped beneath the cotton hem. Fingers spread wide, he palmed the small of her back. She arched. He took advantage of her slight twist and slid his free hand beneath the fall of her hair to cup the nape of her neck. White-hot sensation slithered down her spine. As her breath caught, he dipped his head, brushing his mouth against her temple. “My exhale is candy coated. Three layers of deadly. Magma surrounded by poisonous gas… fire on the outside.”
“A fireball with attitude.” As he chuckled, she rubbed her cheek against his. Day-old whiskers scraped across her skin. Hmm, yeah. She’d made the right decision. He was going to feel so unbelievably good in bed. “Must set the Razorbacks back on their heels.”
“That’s the idea.” Retreating a little, he raised his head and met her gaze. Molten heat made his golden eyes shimmer, sending shockwaves through her. Holding her immobile, he shifted his hips, pressing the bulge behind his button fly against her belly. “Where we going with this, Jamison?”
Ah, and there it was. The demand for truth. Do or die time.
Rubbing her lips together, she dragged her gaze from his and glanced over her shoulder. A messy tangle of rumpled sheets, the bed sat in the center of the room. No more than ten feet away. A ripple of excitement shivered through her. Desire picked up the cue, sending her sideways, urging boldness, making her give him the honesty he demanded earlier.
“We’re going over there,” she said, a husky shiver in her voice. “I plan to take you to bed.”
His grip on her nape tightened. “Is that a fact?”
“It is.”
“Probably should warn you, then.”
“About what?”
“I’m not good at this shit, vanzäla. Never had much practice,” he murmured, color spreading across the tops of his cheekbones. “I don’t know how to please you in bed.”
Tension rode each syllable, infusing his admission with emotion. Shame. Humiliation. Raw honesty. Wick owned every bit of it. And as his words tore at her heart, J. J. felt herself tumble down a slippery slope and straight into love. The fierce kind that came with compassion and a healthy dose of respect. For Wick’s courage. For his honor. For the vulnerability he showed her.
Beautiful, uncompromising man.
He might be strong—without equal physically—but Daimler was right. He needed her to show him the way. Back to himself. Into the man he was meant to become. And as he looked away, unable to meet her gaze, she yearned not only to soothe him, but to prove he was more capable than he believed.
Confidence, after all, came to those who practiced.
“Wanna know a secret?” Cupping his jaw, she forced him to look at her.
“Sure.”
“Your inexperience makes us even, because I
don’t know what pleases me either.” His brows popped up. J. J. fought the urge to smile. God, he was adorable, unlike anyone she’d ever met. A good man in every way that counted. He wasn’t anything like her ex. Quite the opposite, in fact. Adam hadn’t cared whether he pleased her or not. Never given her an orgasm, either. But Wick? She could already feel the slow build of sexual attraction. The explosion hovered a breath away, making her blood sing, infusing her with the need to touch while being touched in return. And oh baby, she couldn’t wait for him to take control and make it happen. “So how about we make a deal. You do what pleases you, and we’ll discover if it pleases me too.”
He threw her a dubious look.
Balanced on her good foot, she raised up on her tiptoe. Her mouth brushed his. His breath caught. She pushed her hands into his hair. Hmm, so soft. So thick. Pure heaven. A place she couldn’t resist, and as J. J. played in the dark strands, raking her short nails over his scalp, she purred. The sound of pleasure made him vibrate in her embrace. She made it again and brushed her lips against his, kissing his disbelief away. He inhaled hard and fast. Pushing her advantage, J. J. nipped his bottom lip, then delved deep, invading his mouth with a quick stroke of her tongue.
The sharp taste of cinnamon made her moan. Mmm, mmm good. He tasted like spiced candy, a slice of the darkly erotic on a lazy afternoon. Decadence in all its glory. Beyond sinful as he opened his mouth, submitting beneath the onslaught. Bliss danced across her skin as his hands traveled over her bare back, setting her alight with desire. With want and a yearning so deep, she struggled to contain it… and take her time. She didn’t want to rush him, but—
“Holy fuck, baby.” Done following her lead, he growled against her mouth. “You taste so damned good.”
Super to know. Better to experience. “Kiss me again.”
“I’m gonna kiss you all over.” His arms tightened around her as he dipped his head and took the lead, teasing her with the flick of his tongue. She egged him on, asking for more, begging him with each kiss. Giving her everything she demanded, he turned and walked her backward. The bed. Oh God. Fantastic idea. She needed to lay him down… or be laid down. J. J. didn’t care how it happened, just as long as it happened fast. “Between your thighs too. Right on your curls.”
Fury of Desire (Dragonfury Series #4) Page 28