Hard Night

by Jackie Ashenden

  Hoping to lull him into thinking she’d given up the fight, no doubt. Sadly for her, she was mistaken in thinking he could be lulled.

  He loosened his grip, giving the impression that he was distracted. “Easily enough. I had your clothes bugged.” It had been an added precaution for her safety, so that if anyone took her, he could track her. He just hadn’t expected her to run off of her own accord.

  She said nothing to that, but her jaw was tight, the gleam of fury in her eyes leaping higher.

  He understood. In addition to being supremely pissed with him, she’d no doubt be angry at herself that she hadn’t thought of that. Then again, there was no reason for her to know since he hadn’t told her.

  Too bad about all the rest of the things you told her.

  He ignored the thought. No, the whole situation hadn’t been exactly ideal, but he’d tracked her down in the end. Though that had been the easy part. Getting away from the bunker had been a mission since she’d slashed the jet’s tires. However, he kept his safe house supplied for every eventuality and that included a spare set of tires plus all the equipment needed for a solo tire change, including a pneumatic jack.

  Even so, it had taken him the better part of three hours to get it done.

  Landing in San Diego, he’d then tracked her to his own house in La Jolla, which again, he’d been expecting. He’d gotten there just in time to see her come out the front door and he’d debated grabbing her right there and then, but had decided against it in the end, curious to see where she might go.

  So he’d followed her to the shitty little motel, waiting until he was sure she’d fallen asleep before making his move.

  The lock on the door had been easy enough to pick and she hadn’t stirred when he’d entered the room. He’d thought she might be more aware than that, but apparently not.

  She hadn’t even woken when he’d climbed onto the bed and lain down on top of her, pinning her so she couldn’t get away.

  No wonder she was pissed.

  “So what now?” Her voice held none of Faith’s warmth, only a flat note. “You want a fuck before you get down to interrogating me?”

  Oh, yes. She was extremely pissed.

  “I’m easy.” He loosened his grip even more to encourage her. “Though if you’re offering, I certainly wouldn’t say no.”

  “Yeah, well, like I said. Been there, done that.” She turned her head on the pillow sharply, looking toward the door as if she’d heard a sound. Probably hoping that he’d look too.

  He obliged her.

  Sure enough, as soon as he did, she jackknifed on the bed, her body moving powerfully beneath his. Fuck, she was good. She managed to get one hand loose, her knee getting perilously close to his groin, and he had to shift fast to avoid it. Unfortunately, that meant having to take a strike that made his head ring like a bell, but he ignored it, rolling with her, using momentum to take her back down under him again.

  They were lying across the bed now, the sheets and quilt tangled around their legs. He had her wrists pinned on either side of her head, his thighs on either side of hers, keeping her trapped.

  She was breathing fast, her breasts brushing against his chest. And it did not escape his notice that her nipples were hard.

  Anticipation swept through him, along with a dizzying rush of desire.

  Faith had always been strong, but now that she’d remembered who she was, there was another facet to her, a physical strength and skill that he found absolutely fucking intoxicating.

  Christ, he hadn’t thought this woman could get any more perfect than she already was and then she went ahead and did so.

  “Nice move.” His voice had gone gravelly with a heat he didn’t bother hiding. “Pity it didn’t work.”

  Her expression gave nothing away, her chest rising and falling fast and hard, the softness of her breasts pushing against him.

  Then her body shifted again as she arched herself up, lifting her hips against his, the damp heat between her thighs pressed to the hard ridge of his dick.

  He hissed as pleasure licked up his spine and then she did it again, pressing against him even harder.

  Fuck. Little witch was trying to use his own tactic against him.

  And Jesus, it was working.

  She twisted, grinding against him, not holding back, and his breathing changed, getting faster, shorter.

  He tried to avoid the lift of her hips, settling down more heavily on her so his weight would pin her to the bed, but that only seemed to make her writhe like a goddamn eel.

  It was . . . exquisite.

  “Stop that,” he ordered roughly.

  But she didn’t. Instead she lifted her head and her mouth found his, hungry and hot.

  The kiss was like a match to a tank of gas and he went up in flames, sliding his tongue deep into her mouth in an effort to take control. But she wouldn’t let him, angling her head to kiss him harder, biting at his bottom lip as her hips lifted rhythmically against his painfully hard cock.

  Holy fuck. If he wasn’t careful he was going to forget that she was only doing this to distract him and that the moment he dropped his guard, she’d no doubt try to get away on him.

  But Jesus, this was one hell of a distraction technique. And she had one hell of an advantage too, because she knew what he liked. She knew all too well.

  She moved beneath him, writhing and twisting, grinding that hot little pussy of hers against his dick as she sunk her teeth into his bottom lip. The slight pain only added to the pleasure that was building inside him, making him want to growl. To move so he could tear those pants down her legs and get inside her.

  Motherfuck, how had she managed to get him so close to the limits of his control? Because he was. And that was a shock because two days ago she’d done the same thing and he’d been able to hold back, no problem.

  You’ve had a taste of her now, though, and that’s made it worse.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like that. One fuck and the desire was gone, that’s what happened every other goddamn time. But not apparently with her. No, one fuck and he wanted more.

  You dumb bastard. You should never have told her all that stuff. She’ll use that against you like she’s using your own cock against you now.

  Jacob growled and tore his mouth away. Then he drove his thigh between hers. She gave a gasp and he could feel it, the dampness soaking into the fabric of his pants.

  She was wet.

  He looked down at her, conscious that his breathing was way too fast. “Been there, done that, huh?” His voice was thick and rough-sounding. “You’re awfully wet to be sounding so bored.”

  In the dark he couldn’t tell if she was flushed or not, but the wet heat between her thighs didn’t lie.

  “Fuck you, Jacob,” she panted.

  “Sadly for you, not tonight.”

  “Get the hell off me.”

  “What? And have you kick me in the balls again? Not a chance, Ms. Beasley.”

  “Don’t fucking call me that.”

  “My mistake, Ms. Lynn.” He put a little weight on his thigh, nudging it against her pussy, watching as her lashes fluttered and her breath caught. “Hmmm. You like that, don’t you? Are you sure you don’t want to continue?”

  She blinked, then looked straight up at him, that fury glittering in her eyes. “Faith might have, but I don’t.”

  Something shifted inside him, a tightness that hadn’t been there before. He’d wondered if the return of her memories would change her, would make her different from the woman he knew, and clearly, that had happened.

  Don’t forget Joshua.

  The constriction in his chest got more intense, along with that possessiveness he couldn’t quite shake.

  Was she thinking about his brother right now? Had they been lovers? Were they still? And did she regret sleeping with him?

  He hated the thought of that. Hated it.

  “Were you lovers?” he demanded, unable to stop himself. “You and Joshua?”

/>   This time it was her turn to study him, her gaze sharp. Then, as if she’d spotted something in his expression that pleased her, she gave him a maddening smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  Oh no, she wasn’t doing that. Not here, not with him.

  He opened his mouth to issue yet another demand and then stopped, seeing something gleam in the hollow of her throat. It was the phoenix necklace he’d bought Faith after he’d seen her mooning over it in an expensive jewelry store. She’d pretended she hadn’t wanted it, but he’d bought it for her anyway, because it had seemed so appropriate.

  She was rising from the ashes of her old self, with a new identity, a symbol of magic and hope.

  She’d teared up when he’d given it to her even though she’d tried to hide it from him, and then had tried to refuse, telling him she couldn’t possibly accept anything so expensive. He’d insisted and afterward had noticed that she wore it virtually every day.

  Just like she was wearing it now.

  The tightness in his chest shifted, became something else, less painful yet somehow no less intense.

  She must have gotten it when she went back to his house and she must have picked it up specifically.

  Even now that she’d remembered who she was, it meant something to her, didn’t it?

  They can’t have been lovers. She wouldn’t be wearing your gift if she was Joshua’s.

  Maybe. And perhaps she didn’t even know it herself or realize what wearing that phoenix meant, but he did.

  “You weren’t,” he said with absolute conviction, feeling the truth of it echo inside him. “You were always mine.”

  An expression that looked like shock flickered briefly over her face, before it morphed back into anger. “Yours?” She gave a laugh that had nothing to do with amusement. “Seriously? You’re one arrogant son of a bitch, you know that?”

  He ignored the dig. “You’re wearing the necklace I gave you.”

  Another flicker of surprise, once again swiftly masked. “So?”

  “So you must have picked it up from your dresser. Deliberately.”

  She didn’t like that, not one bit, and showed it by making yet another attempt to get free. Twisting harder. But he only moved his grip and kept her weighted down with his body.

  “What’s wrong?” he murmured as she quieted. “You don’t like thinking of yourself as Faith, do you?”

  “Because I’m not her!” She virtually spat the words at him.

  Interesting. She really didn’t like that.

  “You are. You’re the same person, sweet girl. Accept it.”

  “Fuck you and your sweet girl bullshit.” Fury burned in her eyes. “You’re not here for that. You’re here for my memories.”

  Oh, she was angry with him. So very angry. Why? Was it only because he’d found her and captured her? Or was it about something more? It was almost as if she was pissed at him that her memories were the only reason he’d come after her, which was strange because he’d never made a secret of the fact that he wanted them.

  But that’s not the only reason you came after her.

  No, it wasn’t and he knew it.

  He’d come after her because as far as he was concerned, she was still his. Yes, he wanted to know where his brother was and what had happened to him, but that wasn’t the only thing he wanted.

  He wanted to know about the woman he’d slowly become more and more fascinated with over the last six months. About the past she hadn’t been able to remember and all the little secrets that had been locked inside her brain.

  He wanted to know who Joanna Lynn was and how different she was from the woman he knew—if they were different, and he didn’t think they were, no matter what she was trying to tell him.

  So many things he wanted to know. In fact, for the first time in years, it felt more important that he know about her than he did about what had happened to his brother.

  You could at least know if he’s alive.

  But he shoved that thought from his head. If his brother was alive, then another half an hour wouldn’t make much difference, not at four in the morning. And if his brother was dead . . . well, nothing he did would make any difference now anyway.

  “No,” Jacob said softly. “I’m here for you.”

  * * *

  He was lying. He had to be. He’d spent six goddamn months making a big deal of wanting her to remember, yet now he was trying to tell her he was here for her?

  Bullshit.

  Not that it mattered, because it wasn’t like she cared. She was pissed, yes, but that was all due to how he’d caught her off guard. That she’d had that whisky and then hadn’t woken up the way she should have when he’d crept into her hotel room. That he’d pinned her and she couldn’t escape.

  Nothing to do with the fact that he wasn’t wrong about you enjoying being under him.

  Yeah and that was the most terrible part about all of this.

  She’d thought that with all her memories intact, she wouldn’t have any feelings at all about Jacob Night. Yet it turned out she did.

  Or at least her body did. And she hated it.

  But it didn’t seem to matter whether she hated it or not. The feel of him pressing down on her, that powerful thigh pushed between her legs, reminded her of when he’d shoved her up against the doorframe and kissed her. Touched her. Pushed inside her. And how she’d wanted him. How desperate she’d been for him. How hard she’d come for him and how badly she wanted to do it again.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to want a man like him that badly. She wasn’t supposed to want a man like him at all.

  Yet here she was, lying under him, staring up into his hard, scarred face, so familiar and yet so unfamiliar at the same time, and all she could think about was that thigh thrust between hers and the fact that he apparently was here for her too.

  Men lie. Haven’t you learned anything?

  “You think I’m lying, don’t you?” he said, lifting the thought directly out of her head. “Don’t deny it, Ms. Lynn, I can see it in your eyes.”

  He was lying. He wasn’t here for her. Jesus, he didn’t even know her.

  God, she wanted him off. She couldn’t stand the relentless pressure between her thighs, the way parts of her body softened for him while other parts hardened. It brought back memories she didn’t want in her head, feelings she didn’t want in her heart.

  Joanna. She was Joanna now, not Faith. Joanna didn’t care about Jacob Night, and she certainly wasn’t attracted to him.

  She gritted her teeth, ignoring her body, looking up at him and trying to see Joshua, her friend, not the man who’d taken her apart so sweetly and completely with his hands and his body.

  The man who took you in and looked after you for six months after you lost your memory.

  Yeah. But not out of the goodness of his heart. He’d done that because he’d wanted that memory and he was prepared to do anything to get it. He was as bad, if not worse, as all the rest of them, men who wanted something from women and took what wasn’t theirs. Who lied and cheated and stole and hurt.

  Her mother was right and had always been right. There were no princes here, only demons.

  “I’m not denying it,” she bit out. “You are lying.”

  He shifted, the movement of his body causing lightning strikes of pleasure to pulse along her nerve endings. “What makes you think that?”

  “How about six months of you harping on about how I need to remember what happened to me because you want to know about your brother.”

  “I do want to know about my brother.” His eyes gleamed in the dark, not as flat and depthless as Joshua’s, but brighter somehow. Like the light reflecting off a shiny black surface. “But I also want to know about you.”

  “Why?” Subtly she tried to pull against the hold on her wrists but his grip was very strong. If she was going to get out from under him, she was going to have to do better than that.

  “Because you lived with me for s
ix months and you fascinate me.”

  “Faith fascinates you. Not me.”

  “I’m curious. Why do you persist in thinking of yourself as two different people?”

  “I’m not two different people. I was Faith for six months because I had no memory of who I was, but I remember now, and I’m not Faith. She doesn’t exist anymore.”

  His mouth curved in a smile and she couldn’t drag her gaze from it. Joshua’s smiles were friendly, nonthreatening. Not edged and full of challenge the way Jacob’s were.

  Joshua’s smile would never make you feel the way you do now.

  No, it wouldn’t. Because she’d never been attracted to Joshua. And she wasn’t attracted to Jacob, either, not at all.

  Now who’s lying?

  Oh God, she had to get him off her.

  “And yet you’re wearing my necklace,” he murmured, his weight settling down on her even more heavily, as if he knew that she’d been trying to figure out how to get out from under him and was planning on stopping her. “Faith really liked that necklace.”

  If her hands had been free, she would have ripped that necklace away and thrown it as far as she could. But she’d been stupid and had put it on, and she still didn’t even know why.

  Jewelry was for silly little girls who’d never picked up a gun and taken a life with it.

  “It’s not going to stay on, believe me.” Maybe if she spread her legs she could wrap them around that muscled thigh between hers, then twist. If she did it quick and hard enough, his grip on her wrists might loosen. “First chance I get it’s coming off.”

  “You don’t like jewelry?”

  “I fucking hate jewelry.” She let her legs fall open, encouraging him to press his thigh harder between hers. Which of course he did. It hit her clit, giving her enough of that lightning pleasure to make her breath catch. Goddammit.

  “Why? Tell me about yourself, Ms. Lynn.”

  “I thought your brother was more important?”

  “He is. But he can wait ten minutes.”

  “And if he’s dead?”

  Jacob’s gaze sharpened, his big, hot body tensing.

  Then, much to her shock, he let go of her wrists and with a simple, elegant movement, rolled off the bed, moving over to the door of the room and standing in front of it.