by Karen Rose
‘Shh,’ Jamie scolded, then followed his line of sight. ‘Come in, Gwyn.’
Gwyn obeyed, her feet carrying her to the bed, her eyes not looking at Thorne. She leaned in and stroked Phil’s pale cheek with one finger. ‘Hey there.’
‘Hey, Amber Kelly,’ Phil whispered, one corner of his mouth hooking up. ‘Thorne is not pleased with you.’
‘I know,’ she whispered back. ‘But I think he’s going to have to get used to that.’
Phil’s eyes were tired, but they managed a small sparkle. ‘I knew you had it in you.’
Jamie’s chuckle was watery. ‘Mount St Thorne is about to explode. Take him home. Or somewhere.’
She kissed Phil’s cheek, then went around the bed to kiss Jamie’s. ‘Taking him home now. I’ll make sure he sleeps.’ She reached for Thorne’s hand. ‘Come on.’
He let her take his hand, but he didn’t say a word. Not until they were outside in JD’s SUV. Then he let it roar.
‘What the actual fuck?’ he shouted, so loudly that her ears rang. ‘JD, what were you thinking?’
‘That we had excellent security at the hospital and that she was likely to be duct-taped to a chair by everyone at Clay’s who was trying to sleep but couldn’t because she kept pacing and asking everyone if they had news.’ JD sighed. ‘And that you might need her.’
Thorne huffed out a breath. ‘It was stupid.’
No, it wasn’t stupid. And Gwyn was aware that he hadn’t denied needing her. So she’d see where this went. An angry Thorne could be interesting.
Which was interesting in and of itself. Because there wasn’t one bone in that man’s body that frightened her, even when he was about to explode with what he considered to be justified rage. He’d never hurt her.
‘Can we go to my place, JD? Or even a hotel? Clay’s house is completely full and I think Thorne’s going to need to yell at me a little.’
‘A lot,’ Thorne muttered.
‘You’re still under surveillance, Thorne. Joseph has someone waiting outside Gwyn’s place already. That’s where we figured you’d go.’
And for that, Gwyn gave JD another big hug when he walked them up to her condo and made sure they were locked safely inside for the night. Then she turned to Thorne, who was staring out the window, his expression thunderous and brooding.
‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘Let me have it.’
Sixteen
Baltimore, Maryland,
Tuesday 14 June, 7.15 A.M.
Go ahead. Let me have it.
Thorne knew what she meant by the words. Which was not the way he wanted to take them. He stood at her window, his hands fisted at his sides because he wanted her so goddamn much. He wanted to turn around and grab her, kiss her, throw her over his shoulder and toss her on the bed. He wanted to strip her, touch her. Worship her.
He was vibrating with it. His skin felt too thin, too tight. Like he’d split out of it any minute. Let me have it. His brain replayed the words over and over, taunting him, because he couldn’t do what he wanted to do. Not tonight. Not ever.
I wasn’t drugged the whole time. Evan had hurt her. Broken something inside her. But she’s healing. Not broken anymore. She said so herself. So let her have it.
It would be so simple to listen to the devil on his shoulder. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It was why he’d told her to stay put tonight.
Yes, he wanted her safe, but logically he’d already come to the same conclusion that JD had. There’d been plenty of security at the hospital. She would have been safe there.
From shooters. But not from me.
The realization had shaken him soundly. She’s not safe from me. He’d kissed her tonight. He wanted to do it again. So much.
‘Hey.’ She was behind him all of a sudden. Poking him in the back. ‘Hey. I’m talking to you. Don’t ignore me.’
‘Like I ever could.’ He flinched. He hadn’t meant to say the words aloud.
She grabbed a handful of his shirtsleeve and pulled. ‘Talk to me, dammit.’
He whirled then, gripping her shoulders and holding her at arm’s length. ‘You don’t want to hear what I have to say right now,’ he warned in a low growl that he didn’t even recognize as his own voice.
Her eyes widened. Then narrowed. Twin streaks of ruby red rode high on her cheekbones, and she was breathing very deliberately. ‘What do you have to say?’ she asked, and then her tongue stole out to wet her lower lip and he couldn’t stifle his groan.
He closed his eyes. He was trembling now. He’d been trembling in the hospital when he’d looked up and seen her. He’d wanted her in that moment. Had wanted to lose himself in her body. Had needed some kind of valve for the pressure that had spiked in his head.
Pressure that was now ten times higher and spiking everywhere.
‘Thorne,’ she whispered. ‘Look at me.’
He didn’t want to. He wasn’t going to. But then she begged, ‘Please.’
He looked down into that beautiful face, and his breath caught. She wasn’t afraid. She was aroused, her eyes hot and snapping with desire. ‘Tell me,’ she demanded hoarsely.
‘God, I want you. I want to lay you down and . . .’ He shuddered, his body so hard that it ached.
‘And?’ She rolled her shoulders, easily escaping his hold because he’d kept it gentle. Even when he wanted her so much he thought he’d explode, he could keep his hands gentle. She stepped closer and he stepped back. Her mouth quirked up in amusement and she took another step closer. His giant step back put him up against the wall.
She took one more step and was plastered against him, her hands flat on his chest, rubbing up the fabric of his shirt. Her eyes were still hot and aroused. Her hands did not tremble.
She wanted this. Wanted him. ‘What, Thorne?’ she pressed. ‘Lay me down and what?’
His head dropped back, hitting the wall with an audible crack that he barely even felt. ‘I want to see you. I want to touch you. Every inch of you. I want to come inside you and then I want to come inside you.’ He whispered the last words and felt her shudder before becoming aware of small hands on the buttons of his shirt. Undressing him.
And then she had his shirt open and her lips were brushing his skin and he couldn’t breathe. ‘Please,’ he said, his eyes still closed, the words like gravel in his throat. ‘If you aren’t serious, stop now. You’re killing me.’
The click-clack of her shoes hitting her floor as she took them off was the only warning he got before she launched herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands automatically found her butt, his arms trapping her legs against his sides. She leaned in to kiss him, hard. Then she licked his lip. ‘Kiss me, Thorne.’
And then he was. He was kissing her and she was opening for him and it was everything he’d ever wished for. His tongue swept inside her mouth, tasting her, and she made a hungry noise deep in her throat.
Then she ripped away, breathing hard, her legs wrapped around his hips, her hands on his face. ‘This is what I want to happen,’ she murmured. ‘I want you to take me into the bedroom and do all the things you just said. But I don’t have any condoms.’
Frustrated disappointment hit him like a rogue wave. ‘Fuck.’
Her eyes managed to be aroused and serious at the same time. ‘I’m clean. I got tested obsessively after . . .’ She shook her head hard, as if flinging the thought away, then met his eyes squarely. ‘Are you? Clean, I mean?’
‘Yes. I’ve been tested twice in the last two years. Once for an insurance policy and then in the hospital on Sunday.’ He swallowed hard. ‘It’s been a long time for me, Gwyn.’
Her thumbs stroked his cheeks. ‘How long?’
He hesitated. ‘Four and a half years.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You . . . waited? For me?’
‘I didn’t want to. I wanted to get on w
ith my life. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t walk away from you.’ A shiver rippled over his skin at the thought of burying himself inside her. ‘I might not last long.’
Her lips curved sweetly. ‘We’ve got time.’ Then she leaned in and kissed him again. They were halfway to her bedroom before he realized his feet had started moving. He finished the trip in a few big strides and set her down, so that she stood on the bed. From this angle, he was looking up at her.
And he loved what he saw. He touched her blouse. ‘Tell me I can take this off.’
‘You can take it all off.’
Hands shaking, he did. He slipped the blouse over her head, pressing kisses down her throat, between her breasts, so enticing in the lacy bra. He unhooked it with one hand and she laughed breathlessly.
‘I don’t want to know how you got so good at that,’ she murmured, then she was gasping and moaning as he pulled the bra away and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth.
He released her, pressing kisses between breasts that were more than a handful even for his big paws. ‘You’re so pretty,’ he said.
She blushed. ‘I want to see you.’
He held his arms out and she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, humming her appreciation. ‘You have the most beautiful skin.’ She dropped kisses across his pecs. ‘I saw you once,’ she confessed. ‘In the shower. At the club.’
‘I know.’ He unbuttoned her skirt, groaning when she stepped out of it, leaving her wearing only a tiny pair of black lace panties. He cupped her breasts, loving the feel, the weight. ‘I saw you watching me.’
Her eyes flew wide. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I would never lie to you.’ He grinned at her. ‘I was preening for you that day.’
She kissed her way from his cheek to his neck, her tongue stealing a lick. ‘It worked. I dreamed about what you looked like for months and months. I got a lot of mileage out of that one accidental peek.’ She pulled his belt loose. ‘Take off your pants. I don’t want to have to remember what you looked like. I want to see.’
His pants hit the floor a second later and she let out a long breath as she stared at the bulge in his briefs, which were at that moment cutting off his circulation. ‘Wow.’
Her fingers traced his length and he wanted to . . . Not yet. Let her lead this dance. There would be other times for him to take the reins. But not today.
He was jerked from the conversation with himself by her hands grabbing his waistband and yanking his briefs to his thighs. She followed them down, dropping to her knees on the bed. And then . . .
‘God,’ he barked. Because her mouth was on him, hot and wet and . . . perfect. ‘Please. Yes. Please.’ His hands went to her hair, but he wouldn’t let himself thread his fingers through it, wouldn’t let himself hold her head, wouldn’t urge her to go faster or deeper.
She pulled off his cock, licking her lips. ‘I’m not breakable, Thorne.’ She winked up at him. ‘I promise.’
He didn’t have a chance to ask her what that meant, because she was on him again and there was no way he could tell her to stop. There weren’t the words. But he wanted more than this. Wanted to feel what it was like inside her. So he picked her up and laid her on the mattress, then ripped the pretty black lace down her legs, revealing the trimmed patch of dark hair he’d only dreamed about.
He stood there for a moment, staring. And then she bent one knee, opening herself to him. His eyes flew to hers and she winked again. His brain short-circuited, and then he was on his knees on the floor, pulling at her legs until her ass was hanging off the mattress and his mouth was on her.
She made another hungry noise and undulated against his mouth in a rhythm that drove him crazy. He pulled away, shaking his head.
‘I want you to come when I’m inside you.’
‘Then hurry up,’ she said with a strangled laugh.
He dove onto the mattress, rolling to his back and pulling her upward and over, so that she straddled him. ‘I’ve thought about this a million times,’ he whispered. ‘I want you to ride me the first time. I want to see your face when I fill you up.’
Another one of those breathy moans escaped her throat. ‘Yes.’ Bracing her palms on his chest, she set her hips so that his cock was right there. At the entrance. But . . .
She was crying. Tears welled in her eyes and slipped down her face.
‘What?’ he whispered, panicked, because he’d rather die than hurt her. ‘We can stop.’ It might literally kill him, but he’d do it.
‘No. Don’t you dare stop. It’s just . . . I thought I’d lost this forever. This connection. I’m so glad it was you who brought me back, Thorne. Thank you.’ She leaned in to kiss him, and slid down so that the head of his cock slipped in.
Tight. And bare. ‘Never,’ he gasped. ‘Never done it like this.’
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Me either. You’re so hot.’
That made him grin. ‘I know.’
She laughed. ‘Shut up. I meant temperature.’
‘Hot-blooded, that’s me.’ But the light moment passed by and they were serious again, eyes locked as she slid all the way down.
Then he couldn’t hold her gaze anymore, because his eyes were rolling back in his head and he was biting his tongue not to come right away. She lifted and fell, harder and harder, and he forced himself to look up at her face, not wanting to miss a second of her taking her pleasure.
She sped up, rocking on him, gorgeous little whimpers coming from her throat. And then her back arched, her head falling back like a flower too heavy for its stem, and she was coming, clamping down on his cock so hard he couldn’t hold back another second.
Grabbing her waist, he planted his feet on the mattress for purchase and thrust upward once, twice, and then it was like he was flying. He came, shouting her name, just like he’d dreamed so many times.
I love you. He wanted to say it, to scream it, but stopped himself. It wasn’t time yet. He knew that. But it would be time eventually. He’d waited seven years. He could wait a little while longer.
Baltimore, Maryland,
Tuesday 14 June, 2.45 P.M.
Gwyn woke to find the sun high in the sky outside her bedroom window, the ceiling fan spinning lazily, and more than half of her bed taken over by a huge, sprawling man who slept on his stomach, snoring softly. The sheet was pooled at his waist, showing off acres of muscle and the tattoo that she’d always wanted to trace with her tongue. They’d been in too big a hurry for her to do so the night before. Both times. They’d just had too much lost time to make up for. Too much stored-up need.
Next time, she promised herself. In the light of day, while the world did its own thing outside her window. Next time she’d take her time and lick him all over.
She might have snuggled closer, but her cell phone was buzzing with an incoming call, the number an unfamiliar one. ‘Hello?’ she answered, and Thorne immediately woke, his eyes doing a quick tour of the ceiling before landing on her. His slow smile was enough to make her want to end the call and jump him. Again. And again.
Shifting to his back, he reached for his own phone, checking his texts. Then, rolling onto his side, he propped his head on his forearm, smiling a little smugly when he saw her gaze glued to his bare chest. God, the man was built.
‘May I speak to Amber Kelly?’ The voice in Gwyn’s ear was smooth, cultured and female.
It took Gwyn a minute to remember that Amber Kelly was the name she’d given to the hair salon owned by Angie Ospina, the woman Thorne had rescued from Richard Linden’s clutches nineteen years ago.
It seemed nearly nineteen years ago that she’d made the appointment, rather than only a little more than twenty-four hours.
‘This is she,’ she said cheerfully, because she was supposed to be eloping tonight. She blinked rapidly, bringing back all the details she’d used in her phone call yester
day.
‘I’m calling from the Heavenly Salon, confirming your appointment for five thirty.’
Gwyn glanced at the clock. Just enough time to get there. ‘I’ve been looking forward to it all day,’ she gushed. ‘See you in a little while.’
She ended the call, then snuggled back down on her pillow so that she and Thorne were face to face. ‘How is Phil?’ she asked, pointing to his phone.
‘Resting comfortably. He sent Jamie home with Frederick to get some sleep. They stopped by Clay’s to pick up Julie, and now they’re headed to Frederick’s. Jamie’s house is still a crime scene.’
‘Sam?’
‘Ruby texted. He’s fine, and she is too.’
‘And Agent Ingram?’
He frowned. ‘Still critical. He hasn’t woken up yet.’
She reached out to rub at the deep groove that bisected his forehead. ‘Not your fault, baby.’
‘I know. At least we know how the shooter got in. Phil was finally lucid enough to tell Jamie what happened. He got a text on his cell phone – from my number.’
‘Shit.’
‘Exactly. The text said that I’d lost my key. Phil was making hot chocolate in the frother for Sam and asked him to open the door.’
‘Spoofing site again.’
‘Yeah. Sam opened the door, and pow, he went down, but Phil didn’t hear.’
‘Because he was running the frother. It’s so loud.’
‘Right again. Phil saw the intruder and yelled, but Ingram was bleeding, and Sam was unconscious.’
‘But he saw him?’
‘Not really. The intruder was wearing a mask.’
‘Of course he was,’ Gwyn murmured.
‘Phil might not have been able to see his face, but he got a good hit in.’ Thorne’s lips curved a little. ‘He picked up the frother, tossed the hot milk in the intruder’s face, then hit him with the metal pot. It didn’t stop the guy, so Phil picked up a ceramic cookie jar and hit him with that too. The jar shattered.’