His dark eyes flashed through her mind, the way he’d leaned against that Hummer, drawing her as she’d woken up after Jarvis had gratuitously knocked her out. She recalled with perfect clarity that moment she’d seen Nigel watching her, as if he saw her in a way no one else did. Not the erotic temptress, not the well-stacked diva, not the terrified wimp who lived a life of fear, but someone else, someone strong and courageous. She’d never met him before that moment, and yet she knew he’d seen a truth inside her that no one had ever bothered to see, even herself—
“Excellent.”
She jumped as the Godfather’s deep voice jerked her out of her revelry. She cringed as he set his hand over hers to escort her down the red carpet. She fought to hold Nigel’s image in her mind, but with each additional moment of contact between her and the Godfather, it got more and more difficult, and everything else began to fade until all that was left was the man by her side.
The Godfather didn’t seem to notice the cameras, the microphones, the press screaming questions about who she was. He just bent his head so he could whisper in her ear. “And after the concert, would you consent to accompany me back to my hotel for some champagne?” He lightly brushed his lips over her cheek. “You’re too dangerous to my goals of celibacy and keeping women alive.” He nuzzled the curve of her neck. “It would be best if you declined.”
He caught her chin and turned her face so her lips met his. The kiss was electric, and she felt her overly zealous hormones leaping at the contact. Her soul understood the threat, but the poison coursing her veins was stronger.
She swallowed, fighting to clear her mind. Struggling to remember the name of the man with the pink rose tattoo who had watched her so intently. Trying to think beyond the electricity sizzling through her body, the fire so powerful and so strong she knew it wasn’t normal, wasn’t safe, wasn’t right. “I decline. I accept.” God, what was wrong with her? “Let me go.”
“I can’t.” The Godfather gripped her hair, anchoring her against him. His breath was hot, his eyes intense. “You drain me of all logic. I’m not safe with you. I don’t want to kill again. You can’t come to my hotel with me. Get away from me.”
She swallowed. “Yes, yes, get away. You don’t want me. It’s the deedub poison.”
“I sure as hell don’t want you, but I can’t resist you.” He kissed her again. Hard this time. Deeply. Forcefully. And she felt herself melt into him, drink in all that he had to offer. Her body convulsed and a sudden orgasm burst through her. She clung to him as her body shook, and his arms anchored around her, holding her so close that he absorbed every shock with his strong body so thoroughly that no camera would be able to tell what had just happened.
It was the action of man well used to handling that situation. A man who would ruthlessly add her to his list of lovers who had succumbed to his charm. A notch on his lethal bedpost. She had to run from this stranger, this man who was nothing but sex, who was preying on her erotic side, on the poison racing through her brain.
For a long moment, they stared at each other, and then her heart began to thump again, responding to his call.
And the bastard heard it. She saw the struggle in his own eyes, and then he silently held out his arm again.
She fought it, lasted for almost two seconds, and then she took his arm.
They walked into Symphony Hall.
Together.
Toward a future that was as horrific as it was ravenously decadent.
And neither of them could say “no.”
***
Jarvis misted out of a wooden fireplace right behind Reina. He caught her as she stumbled over a pile of laundry that had apparently escaped a large antique basket masquerading as a hamper. He couldn’t believe he’d just been drop kicked out of the Castle. “Where are we?”
“We’re in my condo in the South End of Boston.”
“Son of a bitch.” He slammed his fist into the wall, fury rising hard and fast. He’d been so close to Cam, and he’d gotten deported like a piece of baggage.
Luggage was not something he’d aspired to when he’d broken out of the Den three weeks ago. “We need to get back inside. Now.”
“We can’t. Not until Death’s gone.” Reina yanked an assortment of lingerie off a drying rack, but not before he got a good look at a black lace thong, red silk bras, and a camisole in light pink that was the exact color of those damn socks he’d never finished. “The dungeon is right below his office,” she said. “He’d sense us and kill us.”
“How far below?” He was accustomed to lingerie being used to heighten torture and force responses he wasn’t in the mood to give. But the way Reina tossed it out of sight indicated it was for her, and her alone, and he liked that. Liked it a hell of a lot better than what he was used to. Tension raced through him at the thought of what lingerie had been used for against him, and he had to ball his fists to keep from charging over there and shredding it with his sword. Jesus, he was a mess. He was furious, edgy, and unable to think.
“A hundred feet. Through stone. It runs the length of the building.” She hip checked the drawer door shut, her face dismayed as she surveyed the clothes, books, and general carnage strewn across the bedroom. “But Death said that he was with Napoleon searching for Augustus—” Her eyes widened. “You’re getting that look that gave me nightmares the first time I met you.”
Of course he was. He’d just missed out on finding his brother, he’d lost his shit with Death and made a strategically asinine move that had gotten his ass booted, and he was skating the far edges of his control. Where was the warrior he’d spent one hundred and fifty years training to be? He was an expert in standing down the poison boiling inside him. It was time to get it back in control. His sword clenched in his fist, he surveyed the room restlessly, needing anything that would help him. “You got any knitting needles and yarn?” Hell, he’d try anything.
“Knitting needles? No, sorry.” She stalked over to the bed and grabbed a book titled Living with Fear. “But I can give you exercises so you stop freaking out about your life.”
He closed his eyes, fighting off the urge to stab the book. Stabbing reading material? Seriously? Keep in control, Jarvis. “I don’t think that book’s going to keep me from exploding, but thanks.”
Reina sat down on the bed, her shoulders sagging. “Look at this room. It’s a total wreck. I didn’t even notice until you walked in.” She gestured at the disarray. “There was a time when I took care of my things and my life.”
Jarvis forced himself to look at her room, tried to think about something other than the darkness trying to get free of its walls.
Reina’s puffy white quilt was covered with books and her laptop was in the middle of it. It was the bed of someone who hadn’t taken the time to sleep much lately. In fact, her whole room was the lifestyle of someone who hadn’t taken care of herself in a long time. And he knew why. Because she loved her sister.
He tried to focus on her, knew that she needed help. He wanted to say the right things to calm her. “The chaos indicates you’re smart enough to spend your time fighting for what matters, instead of wasting time adhering to society’s useless mores about what a home should look like. Speaks to your power.”
She stared at him in surprise. “You’re serious?”
“My place is a shithole. Haven’t picked up a damn thing since I got out of the Den. I’ve got more important shit to take care of.” He flexed his hand against the burning in his palm. “Your place doesn’t bother me. I like what it says about you.” Focusing on Reina felt better than thinking of himself, but it wasn’t enough. Still wasn’t enough.
“It’s not the same thing. You can live in a hellacious mess because you’re a guy.” Reina pulled a hardbound book called Poetry for Sisters out from under her bottom and tossed it on the floor. “As a woman, the first time a man shows up in my room in years, I’d like it to be more like a den of seduction and passion than an advertisement for a makeover show on TLC.”
>
He raised his brows at the sudden thump in his gut. “Seduction?” Every cell in his body was now focused entirely on her. Yes, yes, seduction. Sex. Intimacy. That would work.
Her cheeks flushed. “I meant, hypothetically speaking. Not specifically in this situation…” Her gaze inadvertently went to his chest. “I mean, not that I’d even know how to seduce you, anyway.”
He shoved his sword into his scabbard and rubbed his hands in anticipation. “No problem. I know how to seduce.”
Her fingers tightened in the comforter, gripping it a little too tightly, like a woman suddenly hit with unexpected desire. “Well trained in it?”
“Extremely.” He began to walk toward the bed, deciding that perhaps he was not as resentful of the years of brutal training in the Den. After all, Angelica had been right about the hair thing, and the kiss… Shit. With Reina, he could actually touch her long enough to seduce her.
A long, luxurious lovemaking session with Reina? He moved closer to the billowing mattress of decadence and grinned as Reina lifted her face toward his in a subconscious invitation. She didn’t try to move away or stop him, and his muscles tensed in anticipation.
How clear would his mind be after making love to Reina? The few kisses they’d shared had been like an angel shining down into his soul What if they connected all the way? Could his insanity even survive it, or would it vanish forever?
He still didn’t understand the effect she had on him, but he was smart enough to take advantage of it. An hour of loving so he didn’t do something asinine like assault Death again? So he could think strategically enough to make the right choice to find his brother and reclaim the balance of love and hate in the universe? So he could feel the peace in his heart long enough to save the world? Seemed smart as hell.
He eased down beside her. The bed shifted under his weight, tilting her toward him. She let herself roll in his direction, not stopping herself until she was resting against his shoulder.
For a moment, neither of them moved, the tension so tight he could have snapped it with a flick of his finger. He could feel her breath on his face and could see the rapid tick of her pulse in her throat as she lay beside in him her bed, tangled in the sheets.
Slowly, with more self-control that he would have thought he possessed, he lightly thumbed the ends of her hair between his fingers. Pleasure thrummed through him as he played with her hair. Testing her. Testing him. Seeing if it would help his mind. Seeing if it would help hers. Anything to help them win this battle. Anything to bring a sense of peace and tranquility to the restlessness trying to make him crazy.
Reina angled her head toward him, an invitation for him to continue. “You know, there was a day when my place looked nice. I just…”
“I don’t care about your place.” He brushed his lips over the nape of her neck. The feel of her skin against his… something so right pulsed inside him. Yes, yes, this was what he needed. Her. Touch. Sensuality. Passion.
She went still, and her hand rested on his chest. Not pushing away. Not pulling him toward her. Uncertain, and so tantalizingly feminine. “What are you doing?”
“Testing a theory.” He kissed her neck again, longer this time. Tasting her skin. “What were you going to say?” I want to have you inside me. I can’t take another minute without being intimate with you.
She leaned slightly, so her shoulder was pressing against his chest. “I haven’t thought of anything except saving Natalie for so long, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to care about anything else. Like keeping my room clean.” She flopped back on the bed, her blue eyes intent on his face. “I don’t want her to die.”
“I know you don’t.” He braced one arm over her and shifted his hips so he was facing her. “What else do you care about?” Me? Getting naked? “The room really doesn’t matter, Reina, and you know it.”
“I know, I know. It’s meaningless.” She raised her face to his, revealing the most endearing expression of vulnerability, and he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her forehead. “I’m so afraid of failure that I can’t even powder anyone anymore.” She wiggled her fingers dejectedly. “I’ve lost my mojo.”
“Your mind is too noisy.” He laid his palm on her stomach and could feel the agitation of her energy, the heat of love mixed with the iciness of terror. “Too much fear. Too much distraction. You need a quiet mind.”
“I hate feeling afraid.” She laid her hand on his cheek, and her hand was cold. She searched his face for answers, held onto him as if he were her anchor toward courage and sanity. “Tell me how to ditch the fear, Jarvis.”
He shoved aside a book on Stories of Survivors: A Collection of Life Affirming Memories from People who Shouldn’t Still be Alive, and stretched out beside her. He moved closer so his body was against hers, and his tension eased. Yes, this was right. Sometimes the best action to take was to slow down and regroup. “I don’t know how to release fear,” he said. “It’s not a useful emotion, so I don’t allow it in the first place. I allow only useful thoughts into my head.” Or at least, that had been his modus operandi before the hate had taken over.
She eyed him. “But aren’t you afraid of exploding?”
“Afraid, no? Pissed off? Hell, yes.” Anger surged through him at her question. Mother of hell. He wasn’t ready to explode. He wasn’t ready to lose his shit and bring down the world around him. The peace he’d gotten from touching her faded, replaced by the throbbing hate of himself and of his path. He swore and yanked her shirt up, then moved closer so his torso was against hers. The skin to skin hit him hard, and he lost his breath for a second at its intensity. He felt something inside him come alive, trying to fight its way through the sludge to the sunlight. It was his sanity, his humanity, his ability to think. Come on, baby.
She made a small noise of surprise, then rolled onto her side, so she was facing him. She splayed her palms on his chest, and he breathed in the feel of her hands on his body.
“This feels so good,” she said.
“I know.” He slung his leg over her hips and hauled her closer. Wishing he didn’t have jeans on. Needing to feel the skin of her legs against his thighs.
She pulled his arm around her. Fear seeking protection. He could provide that, because he needed her focused as well. The two of them together were worth shit if both of them were too insane to think right.
He rested the back of his hand against her breast. His entire left palm was black, as if he’d been stained by the darkest of night. He swore at the sight of his tainted skin. No wonder he felt like hell. The shit was coming for him, and it was coming fast.
She saw his hand, and her skin grew cold again as she took his hand in hers and looked at the evidence of his impending doom. “I hate this,” she whispered. “I hate that you’re going to die.”
Something shifted inside him. Anger. Fury that she could be suffering like this. He fisted his hand, his palm burning. Shit. Since when did he let emotions take him like this? He was becoming unstable and distracted by emotions that were too hot to be helpful. “It is what it is.”
“I know.” She rolled onto her back again and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe she’s going to die, too—”
Jarvis growled and rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed. No way could he allow her to turn away from him. He needed her, and he needed her now. He couldn’t allow her to withdraw. He caught her face and forced her to look at him. “Don’t turn away from me,” he growled.
She went still, her face softening as she looked at him. “Your eyes are black again.”
“You’re pissing me off.” His muscles were tight, twitching. More hostile thoughts poured into his mind, the negative energy feeding off itself. He couldn’t stop thinking about how Death had cut him off from Cam. The son of a bitch was so fucking arrogant he wouldn’t even listen. Jarvis had been so close, and he’d gotten his ass booted—
Reina laid her hands on his cheeks. “Stay with me, Jarvis.”
He fisted
her hair, knowing he wasn’t being careful, but he didn’t care. He was too desperate, clinging to the one chance he had to accomplish his goals. Reina was his only hope, and he couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t lose what she could give him. “You clear my head, but not enough. I need more. Do you understand?”
She went still beneath him, sucking in her breath. “So, what do you need me to do?”
“Make love to me.”
Her skin flushed. “Are you kidding? We don’t have time and—”
“I don’t know what it is, or how you do it, but I need your help. I’m running out of time, and you give me time.” He paused, trying to keep his shit together, trying to think. Trying to think of how to explain it. Of how to convince her. “I swear I’ll protect you. I’ll help you save your sister, if you’ll just keep me sane long enough to find my brother.”
“You’re using me for sex?”
He tried to remember what the right answer would be. He’d been taught to seduce, he’d been taught all the poetry, all the words of seduction. But he couldn’t remember any of them right now. He couldn’t think of anything but the darkness marching toward him. “I just need you.” His voice was raw, hoarse, not his voice. He was trembling, something he never did. But he knew she could give him relief from the hell that had been chasing him his whole life.
He tensed, waiting for her to lash out at him. To unleash some torture weapon at his testicles for being so crass, for putting his own needs above hers and yet he couldn’t stop the words. He was so angry about Cam, furious that Reina was facing such hell, hating himself for letting everyone down, pissed he was going to explode before he could fix everything, disgusted he was going to fuck them all because he was so mentally weak he couldn’t even hold onto his sanity long enough to make a single sane battle decision.
“Jarvis—”
He grabbed her hair, saw her wince of pain, and hated himself even more. And still he couldn’t shut up. “I’m losing my mind, and I need the peace you can give me. I just need to bury myself inside you. I know I’m a bastard. I just can’t do this without you. I—”
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