There was a silence.
Then she felt the warmth of him next to her chair, caught the fluid movement of his body as he crouched down beside her. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice full of warm reassurance, those long, capable fingers sliding beneath her chin and turning her toward him so she found herself staring into his eyes. He was so tall that even though she was sitting down and he was crouching, they were on the same level. “He can only use you if we let him, and that’s not going to happen, okay? No one’s taking Tate Oil and no one’s taking you, and that’s final.”
The warmth of his fingers on her skin was a terrible, terrible temptation and she wanted very much to lean into it. But she didn’t. Instead she pulled her chin carefully out of his grip and sat back in her seat.
The look in his eyes flared in response, gold and green burning bright, and it seemed for a moment as if he was going to reach for her again. And she didn’t know what she’d do if he did. Probably let him, which would be a very bad idea when she was only barely holding on to what distance she had as it was.
Except he didn’t reach for her. Instead his hand dropped, though he stayed where he was, crouched beside her chair. “I’ll figure it out, Chloe.” The warmth was fading from his tone like heat slowly ebbing from a dying fire, the bright flame in his eyes dying out. “I’m pretty sure he can’t stage that takeover anyway. It’s not looking like he has a majority share.”
She tried not to let the sound of that warmth escaping get to her, tried very hard to ignore it and the way it made the ache in her chest worse. God, this shouldn’t be difficult. She’d had no problems at all when she’d ended her relationship—such as it was—with Jason. It hadn’t even been hard. She’d simply decided she didn’t want to sleep with him again and she hadn’t. She didn’t miss him, didn’t long for him. Didn’t crave his touch.
So there should be no reason at all why she desperately wished Van would reach out to her again, touch her again.
“Then how can he threaten a takeover when he doesn’t have a majority share?” she asked, trying to distract herself.
“He can’t. Which means he either has more stock that we don’t know about or he has something else up his sleeve. Unless, of course, he’s bluffing.”
“So do we call his bluff then?”
Van let out a breath. “You don’t have to do anything. You can sit tight here while I—”
“No,” she interrupted, the thick knot of suppressed emotion pressing hard against her throat, trying to escape. “I mean, I don’t want to sit here and do nothing. I don’t know why Wolf and Lucas aren’t helping you, but I’m not going to do the same.” She stared at him, struggling to keep the intensity from her voice and knowing she was failing. “You shouldn’t have to do this all on your own, Van. It’s not fair.”
The look in his eyes intensified all of a sudden, searching her face in a way that made her want to run away and hide. Or alternatively shrug her shoulders and pretend it didn’t matter. But she couldn’t seem to do either of those things. She was stuck there, sitting in her chair, the threads of fear and desire, longing and hunger, anger and grief, knotting and tangling so tight she could barely breathe.
Then something changed in his face. He reached out, gently took the coffee mug out of her hands and put it on the table. Then he gripped the seat of her chair and turned it to face him, his gaze on hers, even sharper this time. “Why should it matter to you whether it’s fair or not? Why should you even care about the company? I thought you only wanted the ranch and that’s all?”
He was right in front of her, holding onto the seat, his arms on either side, caging her where she sat. And there was no escape. Nowhere to hide.
So she reached for her usual protective layer of angry indifference since that was easiest and most familiar. “It doesn’t matter to me,” she snapped. “And yes, I just want the ranch. Can you move your arms? You’re kind of in the way and I really need to go to the bathroom.”
But he didn’t move, not one inch. Instead he stared at her for a long silent minute as the storm of emotions in her chest knotted tighter and tighter. Then he lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, the warmth of his palm shocking against her skin. “No,” he said, very, very quietly. “You don’t need to do that anymore. Not after last night. It’s okay to care, Chloe. It’s okay for this to matter.”
And horribly the threads inside her began to snap, one by one, all those wild and scary emotions beginning to tug free, making her eyes fill up with helpless tears whether she wanted them to or not.
She didn’t know what to do with them or the aching mass in her chest, the way he made her feel. She didn’t have the words to articulate all those emotions and she’d be way too afraid to say them even if she had.
So she did the only thing she could think of.
She turned her head and pressed her mouth to the center of his palm.
* * *
As Chloe’s soft mouth brushed over his skin, a bolt of intense electricity shot straight up Van’s arm and he had to stay very, very still or else nothing would have stopped him from dragging her off that chair, turning her around, clawing down her jeans, and getting inside her any way he could.
But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He’d promised both himself and her that it would only be one night. And he was afraid that if he took her now, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from justifying another night, then another, and possibly even another after that.
So? What’s so very bad about that?
Too many things, not the least of which was the look on Chloe’s face when she’d told him that he shouldn’t have to do this all on his own. That it wasn’t fair. Yeah, he should never have pushed her on that, should never have followed that urge to come close to her, to crouch down in front of her, look into her dark eyes and watch the storm break in them.
It’s too late now. She’s involved. So what’s the point in holding back?
Fuck, she was involved, even though he hadn’t meant her to be, and he could see it, reading the emotions playing over her face as clearly as if they were words written in the pages of a book.
She cared, but he had a horrible suspicion it wasn’t the company she cared about, which would be bad enough. If it was him she cared about, then she was screwed.
He was never going to give her anything more than what they had now. He was never going to want to. He wanted the military, his SEAL career, period. They shouldn’t even have had that one night together, especially considering who they were to each other.
Yet for some reason he couldn’t seem to bring himself to take his hand away, as if he actually wanted those soft lips to rest against his palm. As if he actually wanted more.
“You can’t care about me, Chloe,” he said roughly. “Because this isn’t going to go anywhere. You understand that, don’t you?”
Her lashes were sooty black and silky, her eyes gleaming from beneath them. She shifted in the chair, leaning forward so her mouth was inches away from his, the sweet, musky sunshine scent of her surrounding him. “I don’t care,” she murmured, and he didn’t know what she meant, whether she didn’t care about him, or whether she didn’t care whether it would go anywhere.
Then her mouth was on his and his brain ceased to function.
Desire flamed like a star inside him, white hot, desperate. And somehow even more intense than it had the night before.
But it was wrong. He had too many other things to be thinking about, too many other things to deal with. He should be pushing her away. He should be getting up and turning around, and getting out of this goddamn fucking apartment, leaving all the temptation she presented far behind.
Jesus Christ, he was supposed to be protecting her, not thinking about how badly he wanted to fuck her again.
He lifted his other hand and cupped her face, holding her still and drawing back. But try as he might he couldn’t bring himself to actually let her go.
Chloe’s eyes glittered, her cheekbones stained with color. She
made a frustrated little noise as she leaned forward to kiss him again, only to have his grip on her tighten, stopping her. “What?” She sounded breathless. “You don’t want this?”
Her skin was so unbearably soft beneath his palms, so very warm. “One night.” The words were full of gravel and sand. “That’s what I said. Only one night.”
“I know. But…” This time it was her hands that lifted, her fingers sliding along his jaw, cool and gentle, her touch making his heartbeat hammer in his head. “I want to help, Van. I want … to do something for you. You made me feel good last night, so why can’t I do the same for you?”
He couldn’t stand the feel of those gentle fingers, couldn’t stand it as they curled under his jaw, finding his pulse. Finding the truth. “Oh, pretty…” He was getting hard, his suit pants suddenly way too tight. Everything just way the fuck too tight. “This is a bad idea.”
“Why?” Her fingertips trailed down his neck, stroking. “I mean apart from the whole foster-brother, foster-sister thing.”
The breath escaped him in a short laugh. “That isn’t enough of a reason?”
“No.” She looked so serious, the glow in her eyes heating everything up inside him. “You’re taking on all this shit that Dad left you with, which includes me, and all without any help whatsoever. I just think that’s wrong. And I want to do something to make it better.” Her gaze intensified. “Like you made everything better for me last night.”
His breath caught as those exploring fingers slid down his neck, touching his throat, light and gentle. As if he was some kind of precious artifact and not a SEAL commander who’d taken everything from gunshots to knife cuts to shrapnel wounds.
She doesn’t know what you really are inside. Not like Sofia knew.
Van shoved the thought away, pushed it down hard into the box it had somehow escaped from.
“If you think I’m some kind of delicate flower that needs cosseting,” he said roughly, “think again.”
Anger sparked in her dark eyes. “Oh, so then is that what you thought of me last night? That I was a delicate flower that needed cosseting?”
Fuck. Why the hell had he said that? “No. Of course I don’t think that.”
“Asshole,” Chloe muttered. Before he could move, her fingers tightened suddenly around his throat, and she pulled him in close. Then she was kissing him and there was nothing delicate about it. Her tongue pushed into his mouth, hot and hungry and demanding, and he could feel himself start to go up in flames.
No, shit no. This was a mistake and he had to stop it right the hell now.
Sliding his fingers into her thick, silky hair and gripping her tightly, he jerked his head back, trying to ignore the growling, possessive thing inside him that only wanted him to get closer.
“Seriously?” She was breathing very fast, very hard, the glow in her eyes even brighter now. “I’m not some weak little—”
“I’m talking about your emotions, Chloe,” he interrupted, unable to keep the harsh note from his voice, suddenly and acutely aware of how soft her hair felt against his fingers and falling over the backs of his hands. How he wanted to grip it, wind it around his wrist, draw her head right back, and expose her long, pale throat. “Because if you’re looking for someone to have a relationship with, you’re looking at the wrong guy. I can’t get involved, not with anyone.”
She scowled at him. “Did I ask for a relationship? Did I ever, at any time, say that I was desperate for a boyfriend or whatever?”
“No, but—”
“No, because I didn’t.” Her fingers resting on his throat spread out, slipping beneath the collar of his shirt, making his breath catch. “I’m not expecting anything, Van. Hell, I don’t want to get involved any more than you do, not when I’ve got to get back to the ranch when all this is over. So why not have this while we can?”
It sounded good. It sounded like exactly what he wanted to hear. And he had no doubt it was exactly what she wanted to hear as well. But he knew it wasn’t true, that it was too late, that she was involved already. She’d been so passionate the night before, holding onto him so desperately, and if that hadn’t been enough, there was the fact that she’d admitted to him that she was lonely, that she was scared. And he had the feeling that Chloe didn’t admit those kinds of feelings to anyone.
Christ, this was so wrong. He didn’t know why he wasn’t simply letting her go and walking away. But he wasn’t. He had his hands in her hair and he couldn’t look away from the hunger in her eyes.
“You took care of me last night.” Her voice was a whisper. “Let me take care of you now.”
The words were like bolts of electricity, shocking him. Because people didn’t take care of him, they just didn’t. He was a commander, he was the one who was supposed to look after others, not the other way around. Yet here was this little woman, small and slender and wildly passionate, who seemed to think he was the one who needed taking care of this time.
Like you fucking deserve it.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t seem to even breathe. And he didn’t stop her as she leaned forward a third time, kissing him again, her mouth warm and searching against his. Coaxing almost, as if trying to seduce him.
Shit, there was no “trying” about it. She already had seduced him. With her gentle touches and her hungry kisses, with her desperate passion. He hadn’t meant to do this with her again, and yet he found himself completely unable to stop.
He couldn’t say no to her, couldn’t refuse her. Couldn’t push her away yet again. Couldn’t tell himself that this was all for her benefit either.
He wanted this. He wanted her.
Letting this continue was possibly the stupidest fucking idea he’d ever had, but she was right. They’d already crossed the line the night before, so what was the point in holding back now? Besides, he didn’t even know why he was bothering. It was like he still thought he could be the paragon his father had wanted. And he wasn’t. He never had been. He was as far from a paragon as it was possible to get. So why not do this? Why not take what she was offering?
Like it was even a choice. He hadn’t let her go, which meant he’d made his decision already.
Van let her kiss him, let her explore his mouth, and she was far more confident than she had been the night before. Her tongue touched his, teasing, and she shifted forward to the edge of the chair, her fingers moving to undo the buttons on his shirt and pulling apart the cotton, her hands sliding over his bare chest.
His patience, already tested by the meeting he’d had with that asshole de Santis earlier that day, began to come apart at the heat of her touch, and he wound his fingers deeper into her hair, easing her head back, taking control of the kiss.
But then she slipped off the chair completely, coming down onto the floor on her knees in front of him, one small hand tracing the lines of the tattoo on his chest, the other moving down to his stomach and then down over the front of his pants, her fingers lightly tracing the rigid length of his hard-on.
Electricity shot up his spine, erupting like fire in his head.
Holy shit. He had to take control of this, and now—otherwise he was going to embarrass himself.
Easing her mouth from his again, he looked down into her flushed, vivid little face. “Bed,” he ordered, this time not bothering to keep the huskiness from his voice.
“Not yet.” Her hand was doing insane things, running lightly up and down the front of his fly, making that electricity crackle along every nerve ending he had. “I want to do something for you. I want to take care of you.” Her hand pressed down all of a sudden, squeezing his cock through the wool of his pants, making lights explode behind his eyes. “I want to t-taste you.”
Yeah, he was done. He was finished.
Seemingly of their own accord, his fingers wound tighter in her hair, increasing the pressure so her head was pulled back even further. “You want to suck my cock, pretty?” he said very deliberately. “Is that what you want to do?”
&
nbsp; A bright flag of color unfurled across her cheeks, the glow in her eyes suddenly blinding. “Y-Yes.” The stutter was small, but she didn’t look away.
“Say it.” He was pushing her and he knew it. But the erotic words and the rough demand in his voice was clearly only turning her on.
“I want to suck your cock.” There was no stutter at all this time, no wavering in her gaze. And shit, she almost sounded triumphant.
She’d looked like this the day he’d raced her back to the stables. All fire and challenge, and an intense, passionate wildness.
His hands curled into fists and, considering he had her hair gripped in them, it had to hurt. But she gave no sign of pain other than a minute catch in her breath, the fire in her eyes only burning higher.
He couldn’t say he didn’t want this. His little foster sister, on her knees, sucking his dick. So wrong. Another nail in the coffin of the perfection his father had always demanded.
“Well hell.” The words came out rough and lazy with heat, but he didn’t care. “Since you asked so nicely…” He let go of her hair then rose to his feet, turning to lean back against the edge of the table, holding her gaze all the while. “Here.” He gestured to the floor in front of him. “On your knees.”
She didn’t hesitate, moving to obey him. Then she tipped her head back to look up at him, the hunger in her eyes making his heart race even faster. “I’ve never done this before,” she said huskily. “I don’t want to do it wrong.”
That shouldn’t be hot, it simply shouldn’t. But it was.
He reached down, ran his thumb over her full bottom lip, testing the softness of it, relishing the feel of it against his skin. “Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll tell you what to do.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Chloe couldn’t seem to drag her gaze from his. There was no green left in it, his irises gone brilliant gold, and she knew that was all because of her.
She loved it. Loved kneeling here in front of him, having him look at her like that. As if she was the center of the universe. As if a bomb could have gone off right beside him and he wouldn’t even notice.
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