Immortal Duty

by J. K. Coi

  His hand cupped the weight of her breast as he dipped his head lower and took her nipple in his mouth. He laved it with his tongue, sucked it hard.

  “Rhys. Ah…please.” Amy didn’t know anymore what she was asking for. She needed him to stop. Wait. No, she wanted him to tear off her clothes. Her mind clouded further as her body hummed and throbbed.

  The sudden familiar sound of Gideon’s motorcycle coming up the drive broke through the red haze, forcing her to find the will to tear herself from Rhys’ arms.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, sucking in air. “This only proves how dangerous you are to my mental state. I’m not this kind of person. I’ve never done this before. I can’t get my life back on track if… We can’t… You have to stop following me.” She started to back away, her feet feeling heavy. “I promise I won’t be reckless anymore, so you won’t have to worry about me. Just stop, please.”

  Turning, she fled from him. It took all the strength she had not to press her fingers to her mouth where he had kissed her.

  * * * * *

  Amy spent the next two weeks in a haze of normalcy that belied her inner turmoil. She worked double shifts, trying to get back to her normal life and routine, but it wasn’t working. More and more often her thoughts turned to Rhys. She hadn’t spotted him lurking in the shadows since that night outside the hospital, but the memory of his strong hands and his fervent kiss were like ghosts haunting her. Night and day, memories of his kiss and the clean, rich, masculine scent of him filtered through her defenses to fill her with want.

  Amy wanted to see him again. Just one more time. But she knew she couldn’t. If he came around again, she feared what would happen to her already wavering self-control. There was no doubt in her mind that Rhys’ life wasn’t safe. It wasn’t normal. It was too far removed from her own for there to ever be anything between them…except hot, sweaty, naked sex.

  It was so tempting.

  She kept the card he’d given her that first night, the one with his phone number on it, in the drawer of her bedside table, but didn’t want to delve too deeply into the reasons why.

  Because she wasn’t going to call.

  Instead, she worked, she bought groceries, she paid her bills.

  She’d welcomed Neil home when he got back from Japan—then told him she thought they’d be better off seeing other people. He hadn’t put up much of a fight, and it was the very lack of drama that confirmed whatever it was they once had going for them had long ago faded on both sides.

  It had made her melancholy for a few nights, but all in all, she was relieved more than anything else, grateful to be free of the guilt she’d started to feel because of her attraction to another man.

  And yet despite everything she’d done to try to get her life back on track, Amy still couldn’t shake the tension and sense of imbalance that had been plaguing her. She felt as if she were facing a new destiny, one that hadn’t yet come to claim her but had her standing on the edge of a high peak, waiting.

  Somehow she knew the fall was going to hurt like a bitch.

  * * * * *

  Gideon was splayed out on Amy’s sofa, flicking his way through the TV channels. “So what do you want to do tonight, Ames?”

  He lowered the remote, his gaze drawn to the screen where a very amply endowed young woman, a tight white tee stretched across her chest, lay on a bench boldly baring her belly to a bald and heavily inked tattoo artist who was busy painting a pink bunny just above her panty line. Ah, the joys of reality TV.

  Gideon sat up and looked over the high back of the sofa. His sister was standing by the kitchen counter, staring off into space. “Amy. You there?” No signs of life. “Hey! Earth to Amy. Want to let me in on the secret?”

  Obviously pulling herself away from deep thoughts, Amy turned to him with a small smile. “Sorry. I was wool-gathering again. What did you say?”

  He wanted to question her, get to the bottom of this distracted person who had taken over Amy’s body, but decided to wait it out a while longer. It was hard for him—he still struggled with his instinct toward overprotectiveness, always wanting to take control and save his kid sister from the school bullies. But they weren’t kids anymore and he had to accept the fact that she would talk to him when she was ready, and sometimes she wouldn’t even talk to him at all. “I thought we could go out to eat and see a movie. You’ve been holed up in this pea-sized apartment for a week straight. Ever since you and Neil called it quits.”

  “Oh, it’s not like that,” she said, her face scrunching up in a frown. “I’m not emotional or anything. Neil and I, we just…fizzled. Don’t worry about me—it was actually kind of mutual. I’m just reevaluating some of my decisions. I think it’s something I need to work out on my own.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course.” She smiled and shook her head. “I’m fine, really. Besides, I know you had plans tonight. Don’t you have a date or something?”

  “It’s okay, I can blow it off. It’s just someone I met last week when I was getting coffee downtown.”

  “Don’t do that. You said she was cute, and you should go. I might head out for a while anyway. Some of the other residents are getting together at the Sundancer for drinks.”

  “Okay, then I’ll go. But I’m coming back tomorrow so we can go shopping. Don’t forget, you promised to help me find a sofa for my place, and I refuse to venture into the ugly world of retail without the proper female protection.”

  Amy laughed at that. Gideon was certainly representative of his gender in that he completely despised shopping for anything, unless there was some guaranteed pick-up potential. That’s why the grocery store was about the only place he’d go shopping on his own.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll drag you over to Pottery Barn and we’ll find something that you can match with your flannel curtains and ugly shag carpeting.”

  “Hey, don’t be knocking the flannel. It was the only manly fabric I could find.”

  “Manly fabric?”

  “Yes, manly. You think a woman would choose to put flannel on her windows?”

  “Point taken.” Amy chuckled.

  “Besides, I needed something to keep my horny eighty-five year old neighbor from dying of a heart attack. She’s always got these heavy duty binoculars pressed up against the window when I’m doin’ my Risky Business impersonation.”

  Laughing, Amy pushed Gideon toward the door. “Get out of here. Go home and get ready for your date. You’ll need all the time you have left to make yourself passable-looking.”

  “Oh, ouch.” He winced and affected what he was sure was a sincerely wounded look. “I’ll get you for that one.”

  When Gideon was gone and the apartment was once again quiet, Amy looked around, suddenly feeling at a loss. It was her first free night in weeks, but instead of taking advantage of the opportunity to relax and recharge, her mind raced and she didn’t know what to do with herself.

  Staring out the window into the inky darkness of the night, Amy noticed something a slight movement on the ground below. Her eyes widened in recognition.

  Rhys was there.

  He stood directly below her, his gaze boldly locked with hers through the window. After a moment he moved out of sight, and Amy knew he was coming up.

  Chapter Eight

  He was coming up.

  Her stomach flip-flopped. She went to the door and unlocked it, waiting for the telltale bing of the elevator, unconsciously fluffing her hair.

  She didn’t hear anything and he didn’t knock, but Amy knew when Rhys was on the other side. She reached out and opened the door.

  God help her.

  Her senses were immediately flooded with him. His bold, masculine scent was a combination of crisp fresh soap, the leather of his heavy jacket and a compelling, unique musk that screamed to her of power, intimidation…and sex.

  The sensual fog surrounded her, intoxicating her. He stepped forward and she was struck again by the sheer size of th
e man.

  “Can I come in?” His voice was low and husky. God, she loved the sound of it. Her belly turned to marshmallow and her legs wobbled like rubber. Any closer and she would melt into the floor.

  “I don’t know. Do you think it’s a good idea?” she asked.

  “Probably not.” Those sinful lips turned up in a wry grin.

  “In that case, come on in.” She shook her head and smiled, stepping aside on shaky legs. She closed the door behind him before common sense could take over.

  With Rhys in her apartment, the place immediately felt ten times smaller.

  “Would you like something to drink?” She hoped she sounded loose and casual, and made her way to the kitchenette.

  “Sure, I’ll take a beer if you have it.” He pulled off his coat and draped it over a chair. Over his simple black tee—stretched across well-defined, way too muscular pecs that took her breath away—he wore a shoulder holster that crossed at his back. He took that off too, placing it on top of the coat.

  She eyed the gun, startled. Her uneasiness multiplied by about a thousand. She tried to ignore the harsh reality that a man who owned, carried and used a gun in everyday life was at this very moment nonchalantly casing out her apartment, but it wasn’t working.

  She came back with Rhys’ beer and a glass of wine for herself. Rhys had taken a seat on the sofa but his eyes followed her every move, making her feel like hunted prey.

  “Um…so why are you here?” She didn’t know what to do with herself. It was probably a bad idea to join him on the sofa.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, frowning. “I’ve asked myself that question twenty times since I saw you in the window.”

  The temperature in the room increased as they faced each other, sizing each other up.

  “I tried to stay away, but for the life of me, right now I can’t remember even one of the reasons why,” Rhys said after a few quiet moments.

  “I know exactly why.” Amy leaned against the wall beside the sofa and looked down at him. “Because I need to focus on my work. Because there’s something strange about you, and I’m not sure I want to know about it even if you were willing to tell me. And because we have nothing in common other than one disturbing run-in in a back alley.”

  “All true.”

  “And because I don’t do one-night stands, and I have a strong suspicion you don’t do relationships.”

  “There’s always a first time,” he said.

  Yeah, but whose first would it be? Yours or mine?

  Rhys’ gaze narrowed. “Come here,” he said softly.

  “Uh-uh, no way.” Amy shook her head. It was best to keep some distance between them if she was going to stay in control. For God’s sake, she didn’t know anything about him except that he was as scary as hell and got her blood pumping like no other man ever had. She wasn’t going to get any information out of him if she joined him on that couch.

  “I’m better…safer…right here for now,” she said. That was something she knew without a doubt.

  “Suit yourself.” He smiled. It was a raw smile that made Amy’s sex swell. It was a smile that spoke volumes in its simplicity, telling her that she could prevaricate all she wanted…it was only a matter of time before he got exactly what he wanted from her anyway.

  “So…” What did one talk about with someone like him? A man who so obviously didn’t want to talk about himself? A man who kept secrets? “Do you have any family? I can’t imagine they would approve of your…line of…work.”

  Wow. Could she be any more lame? Who but Amy Bennett would have been so obvious about the fact that she was digging? It would have been better had she just come right out and asked him if he had a girlfriend.

  “No family,” he said, but there was a distinct edge to his tone, like she had already ventured into forbidden territory.

  “Oh, I—”

  “They’ve been dead a long time.” Rhys’ answer was clipped, and it wasn’t hard to see that he’d said all he was going to say. It seemed her options for polite conversation were going to be pretty limited.

  Screw polite conversation. She wanted some real answers.

  “All right. I’m just going to come right out and ask. What were you doing the other night? Exactly what was that thing in the alley?”

  Amy had relived those moments in her head every day, but she still couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation for what she’d seen, except that she must have imagined half of it and exaggerated the other half.

  Rhys hedged—she saw it. “I can think of much better things for us to do than talk about that night.”

  “Now how did I know you were going to say that?” She frowned over the rim of her wineglass.

  “It’s really not something you want to know anyway.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to know what I want,” she snapped, annoyance bleeding into her voice.

  All of a sudden the air was charged. “Oh yeah. I think I do.” He got up from the couch, coming closer. The look in his eyes was scorching, his intent unmistakable.

  Amy gasped. “You arrogant son of a—”

  “Act insulted all you want, but I’m just saying what we’re both feeling,” Rhys said, his voice low.

  “Don’t count on it.” Yeah right, she thought. Of course he was counting on it. She’d been nothing but an open book with him and they both knew it.

  She shakily set her wineglass down on the table and put her arms up in front of her in a half-hearted attempt to hold him back. He ignored her, stalking her with pointed intent across the short room.

  “Stop right there. I don’t even know you. Don’t think you can come and start throwing your weight around in my place.”

  “Are you taken?” His body was so close to her now that she had to look up to meet his eyes. Sex rolled off him in waves that slammed into her and through her, heating her from the inside out.

  “What?” She couldn’t concentrate. Why was he asking her stupid questions when she desperately needed to be kissed?

  “Are you taken?” he asked again. “Do you have a lover?”

  His mouth was so close now. The world spun slowly.

  “No,” she answered faintly. “No. I’m not…seeing anybody…not anymore.”

  “Who’s the guy that’s been hanging around here the last few weeks?”

  “You’re still stalking me?” she said, incensed. Her passion flared back and forth like a pendulum. Desire… Anger… Desire… Doubt… Desire…

  “Who is he?” Rhys repeated.

  “Who are you talking—? You mean Gideon? Why do you care? He’s just my brother.” Anger again. “And so what? Even if he wasn’t, you have no right—”

  “Good.” Rhys swooped down, taking her mouth in a sudden ferocious assault.

  Desire.

  Amy couldn’t speak, breathe or think, and she couldn’t have pulled away for the life of her. Instead she slipped her arms around Rhys’ neck. At the brush of her fingers through the hair at the back of his nape, he growled deeply, the low tone smug and lousy with triumph as his lips traced a hot path along the smooth column of her throat.

  She should protest, was going to until his teeth scraped the lip of her collarbone. She gasped with pleasure, and again when his tongue soothed the spot. His hands closed around fistfuls of her shirt and pulled her even closer.

  Amy thrilled at the searing contact. She moved her own hands down to the hem of his shirt and slid beneath. She made sure he could feel her nails scoring his back.

  Rhys cupped her ass with both hands, lifting her tight against him as if to fuse them together, his unyielding strength to her aching softness. Amy’s back arched. She wanted more—more of his heat, more of his hands and mouth, more of the sensations he sent racing through her.

  He pushed her shirt up and she raised her arms to let him lift it all the way off. He snapped open the front closure of her bra, pushing the silky fabric aside. When his lips closed over her nipple, the warm, wet contact sent a
blast of white-hot lightning through her. She tightened her legs together, trying to slow the throbbing of her sex.

  His tongue pulled and sucked at her until her knees buckled. She remained standing thanks only to Rhys’ arm wrapped solidly around her waist.

  “Oh God. How can you do this to me when I don’t even know your last name?”

  “Morgan,” he murmured, nuzzling between her breasts.

  “Great, but that’s not the point I was trying to make.”

  “You know all you need to. You know how good it’s going to be between us.” He grabbed the neck of his black tee, pulling it over his head.

  “It’s not enough,” she protested, her eyes widening at the broad expanse of his bare chest. “Can’t be.” She gazed at him in awe, rubbing her palms gently up his arms, tracing the ends of the intricate tattoo curving over each shoulder.

  “Accept it, Amy. Accept that it’s all that really matters now, in this moment.”

  Could she really do this? Could she embrace her attraction for this man, live in the moment and not think about consequences? Could it be that simple, or was she deluding herself?

  At this point, she was willing to find out.

  Rhys slid the thin pink straps of her bra down her arms, raising goose flesh with every slow inch. Before the scrap of silk even hit the floor, he had her in his arms, carrying her unerringly in the direction of her bedroom. He stepped over the threshold and placed her on the king-size bed before following her down so that every inch of him was molded to her, pressing every part of her into the plush mattress.

  He groaned. She sighed. It felt like sin. It felt like heaven.

  Then Rhys kissed her again, and kissed her some more, until Amy was completely mindless, focused only on sensation and pleasure.

  Amy’s passion and eagerness overwhelmed Rhys. He needed to take in everything at once. Breathing in her scent, touching her skin wherever he could reach. Everything about her was hot, vital and alive, and he reveled in the dozens of pulsing responses surging through his body at the tantalizing stroke of her hand over his chest, the brush of her lips on his and every slow movement of her hips, letting all of it flow over him, into him.