Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze)

by Jade Hart

  Callan groaned, swiping a hand through his hair. “You play dirty, you know that? Lurking in my apartment like a spider, then springing an apology.” He ducked around the coffee table, standing only a foot away from me. “I want to tell you to shove it. That I've had enough. But I won't.”

  My heart thudded. He was still interested? And why did that excite and relieve me so much? Cash, Ocean. Ignore him.

  “I want my money.” My voice was breathy.

  Callan huffed and brushed past me. Our shoulders connected. A tingling raced along my skin. He didn't seem to notice and threw himself backward on the sofa, looking up through dark eyelashes. “Can you let me relax first? I've just come back from a whirlwind trip to England and Korea. I'm knackered.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. His eyes had trouble focusing; his body was lethargic. How long was it since he slept? And Korea? What the hell was he doing in Korea?

  I looked down at him, hands on my hips. “No one told you to go to England. That was a crazy, stupid trip you wasted. Not to mention expensive.”

  He chuckled. “I used your cash.” Eyes flashed with challenge. “Hope you don't mind.”

  Excuse me? He chased me using my own money!? Oh, the nerve. My body ran hot. I stuck my hand out. “Give it. Now. I want to leave.”

  Callan grabbed my hand and tugged me toward him. I lost my footing, sprawling in his lap. I pushed his chest, anger and embarrassment flushing my cheeks. He was so warm, and muscular, and hard. He smelled of unwashed male and salt.

  My heart raced as I disentangled my limbs from his, scooting to the other side of the sofa. The whip-marks on my back twinged from his rough handling.

  Callan eyed me, then yawned. “After the shoot-down you gave me in England, I never thought you'd be in my apartment.” He yawned again, showing perfect teeth. Something melted in my belly. I couldn't tear my eyes from his lips. He clamped a tanned hand over his mouth before mumbling, “I just wish I could keep my eyes open long enough to take advantage of the fact.” His eyes closed. Feather-shadows danced on his cheeks from his eyelashes.

  He was vulnerable. The cop was replaced by a surfer on the verge of collapsing into deep sleep. My mouth watered as I noticed a vein running up his muscular neck. I wanted to taste. To savor.

  On a suicidal impulse, I leaned in and kissed him.

  His eyes shot wide; breath caught.

  He tasted sweet like pineapple, and smelled even better up close. I moved my lips, encouraging him to kiss me back.

  His shock disappeared; a warm hand captured the back of my neck. I struggled against the pressure, wanting to stay in control, but he held fast. Strong. Possessive.

  I'd only meant to kiss him for a second. To kiss him once, then take my money and run. But he angled his chest to draw me closer, pulling me with his hand. His tongue licked my bottom lip. I moaned.

  It was as if a bonfire ignited between us—suddenly, hands were everywhere. Mine in his silky hair; his cupping my neck and cheek. I couldn't get close enough. I wanted to feel him. I needed to feel him.

  I moaned again as his tongue delved into my mouth, stealing my breath. His enthusiasm was infectious and for once, I let myself go. I let go of my guilt that I should be saving some poor soul and indulged in him. The kiss was all-consuming. A kiss that meant more to me than it should. My first real kiss with any emotion behind it.

  Callan groaned. His hand dropped from my cheek, capturing my breast.

  I arched into him, yearning. His touch was wildfire, his scent a drug.

  He gathered me closer, his clamping arms around me as he kissed me. Hard. My whiplashes flared as teeth clashed with teeth and tongues dueled savagely. It was violent, primal. A complete lack of self-control and gentleness. It was the best thing I'd ever experienced. It warmed the coldness in my soul, replacing the emptiness with a delicious pulsing heat.

  Needing more, I jerked his sea-kissed hair and straddled him. Wrenching my lips from his, I shifted and bit his neck, shivering with lust as he groaned loudly. I liked being in control, enjoyed the way he writhed beneath me.

  Heavy hands clasped my hips, branding my flesh as he pulled me down to brush against something hard in his jeans.

  Yes, I wanted. Yes, I needed. My body was a quivering mass of nerves and sensation. I rubbed my Lycra leggings back and forth against him.

  Callan panted, jerking his hips to push harder. Something snapped in me. The heat overflowed, burning too hot—so hot it was sharp. My soul plummeted from hotness to chilly emptiness. I was alone in my wasteland again.

  I broke the kiss, standing in one quick move. My chest heaved, my body was screaming for more. On unsteady feet, I wobbled to stand behind the kitchen bench.

  Callan wore a dazed look, but gave me a lazy smile. “Now that was a homecoming.” He licked his lower lip, and something tugged in my nether-regions. “Come back here.”

  “No.”

  “Come on. We only just got started.”

  “I came for my money. Nothing more.”

  “So you can't leave until I give it to you. Is that right?” His eyes glinted and he stood. Gone was the jet-lag, the tiredness which had lined his face only moments before. He positively glowed.

  This man was incorrigible. Where was the polite cop who'd taken me to dinner? Hang on. He was never polite. There’d always been something in his gaze that the feminine part of me recognized, but wanted to ignore. Callan set his eyes on me the minute he read my file.

  My file.

  Understanding dawned, I wanted to scrape my tongue to remove any trace of his kisses.

  “I just realized why you're so interested in me.” The knowledge sliced me in two. I wanted to leave so much I trembled.

  Callan prowled toward me.

  I inched away, keeping the breakfast bar between us.

  “Is it because I'm drawn to you? That I find you incredibly sexy? That I'm fascinated by you and want to get to know you?” he taunted, all the while closing the distance between us.

  That was bullshit. “No. You see the girl in that file. You see something broken that you want to fix.” I crossed my arms, standing my ground. Fighting against the part of me that wanted to believe Callan liked me for me. Not because of what I went through. “Not going to happen. I'm leaving. With or without my money. Your choice.”

  That stopped him. “No. Wait.” Callan held up a hand in surrender. His eyes narrowed as thoughts raced over his face. He surprised me by saying, “Your injuries look better, but your back is bleeding. If you let me take care of you, I'll give you the money so you can go.”

  A feral snarl crawled up my throat. That was all he was interested in. Fixing me. Caring for me. Repairing me. Not because he saw a fighter or a woman who survived, but because he saw a frightened girl in pieces. You're an idiot, Ocean. And Maurice is in huge trouble for pushing you to think about Callan that way.

  Then rationality kicked in. I couldn't change the bandage on my own. I tried when I used his shower. My cuts were itchy, needing attention. Shit. “Fine. But no other touching, apart from the necessary.”

  Callan nodded seriously. “I promise.” He disappeared and came back with a towel and some bandages. “Can you take my t-shirt off?” A flash of a smile.

  Brilliant. I didn't think this through, did I? I couldn't take his t-shirt off because I wasn't wearing a bra. The strap would’ve been torture against my wounds. But he couldn't change my bandages without me removing it. Double shit. Did he plan this? I glared at him, looking for any sign of a smirk or knowledge of what he was doing.

  His face was professionally blank. “Here. You can hold this. I promise I won't look.”

  I bit my lip as he tossed me the towel. My blood raced at the thought of being half naked around him. Damn my injuries. Taking a deep breath, I snapped, “No peeking.”

  He grinned. “Oh, I wouldn’t think of it. Especially when you have a sword in my living room.”

  Scowling, I turned my back, quickly stripped off his now bloodstain
ed t-shirt and crushed the fluffy towel against my chest.

  My skin flushed as I turned around and realized he’d watched me the entire time. I wanted to be angry, but sparks of lust over-rode my rage. His eyes devoured me. The reaction he had was obvious, and it filled me with sensual power. An image of me dropping the towel and seeing his reaction made me bite my lip again.

  Callan flinched. “Your back is a disaster.”

  I scowled, taking a step away. “Gee. What a nice thing to say.” I rolled my eyes. “Where should I go?”

  “Come here.” It was a command that made me want to rebel but also obey.

  I took a hesitating step toward him. He motioned for me to stand sideways to the sink. He turned the tap on and let the water run hot, before soaking fresh cotton wool and wringing it out.

  “Hold still.” Soft hands peeled off old soaked bandages. He was so close his breath tickled my shoulder. I was proud that I didn't shiver. Outwardly, I was an ice block. Internally, I was bubbling lava, replacing the cold emptiness once more.

  A light-touch swept over a cut; I winced. That hurt.

  “You should probably have stitches for a few of these. They're nasty,” he murmured.

  “I heal fast.” I always told myself that, and it seemed to come true. I was a firm believer that mind power ruled the body. If I wanted to heal fast, I freakin’ would.

  He blew gently on a water droplet and it fell, tickling my ribcage. I shuddered in a mixture of wanting and discomfort.

  Callan muttered, “I'll kill the bastard who did this to you.” He blew again, his lips way too close to my skin for comfort. “Unless you did that already?”

  My eyes popped wide. Did I hear him right? Was this a trick? Was there a recording device meant to trip me up and incarcerate me for the rest of my life?

  My heart thudded as he gently touched my skin with a fingertip, smearing in some sort of cream.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” he whispered. “I know what you did the night you were arrested.”

  I froze. This was definitely a trap. I took a step away from him, already calling my porting power, happy for once when I got the splitting headache.

  Strong hands clamped onto my bare shoulders. My knees grew rubbery and I panted. Even now, even though I knew the reason why he wanted to be with me, I was lost to his touch. Stupid, stupid hormones.

  “You killed a john. That's why you were dressed as a prostitute. You were bait.” Callan's voice burnished with heat. The atmosphere crackled as tension built between us.

  He continued to tend to me, wrapping new bandages over my injuries.

  “Are you going to arrest me?” I couldn't control how fast I breathed. The thought of being half-naked and handcuffed did strange things to my insides. Delicious things.

  Callan's nose skimmed along the back of my neck behind me. I jerked, knowing I should step away. But my feet refused to move. I wanted this contact.

  His hands lifted the veil of my hair and he placed a single kiss at the top of my spine. “What?” He touched me softly. “What are these marks on your back?”

  Shit. Why did I not remember? My laugh was brittle. “Stupid tattoos when I was young. Worst mistake of my life.” Would he be sickened if he knew each mark was a life I stole? Of course he freakin’ would.

  A brief hesitation, then he kissed my back. His lips caressed my skin, lingering on each mark.

  I shuddered, swaying backward. Unable to help myself, I tilted my head to give him better access.

  He continued to rain kisses on the top of my shoulders and neck. He whispered, “In answer to your question, no. I won’t arrest you. I know why you killed him. The police wanted him caught for months. Bart Matthews: a member of the Mongrel Mob. Drug dealer and two-time killer. He raped a sixteen-year-old boy, then murdered him.”

  Hardly pillow talk, but my core was liquid. I was unbelievably turned on by his mouth on my skin and the knowledge that he accepted my reason for killing that bastard. It was a heady combination, one which threatened to crash all my walls and let him into my frozen heart.

  Then my pulse raced for an entirely different reason. The memory of how that man's blood oozed over my fingers as I stuck him with my blade.

  “He deserved to die,” Callan said.

  My breath hitched as an open-mouthed kiss on my neck wrenched me from gruesome memories and back into my over-heated, over-sensitive body.

  “I don't understand.” I managed as my head fell back to land on his chest. Callan wrapped his arms around me, hands on top of mine where I held the towel against my nakedness.

  “What's there to understand? You're helping me rid the world of evil. You kill. I lock them up. We're on the same team, Ocean. I don't care if your methods are brutal. I understand why, and I will not judge you.” His voice never rose past a caress. I was lulled into him. I allowed him to kiss my cheek, my temple, avoiding the cuts across my face; I gasped as his lips claimed mine. My neck turned at an angle, giving him full control. The kiss was just as hot. Just as demanding and feral.

  Callan was everywhere at once. In my mind. My heart. My soul. His taste, his scent, his heat—all overpowered me till I was a quivering mess in his arms.

  He spun me to face him; the towel somehow fell to the floor and I couldn't care less my naked breasts were pressed against his rumpled shirt.

  He cursed, and stopped kissing me to look at my exposed skin. Something hungry and dangerous flashed in his eyes. He pushed me roughly so the back of my legs and butt crashed against the kitchen bench-top. I didn’t care that he was brusque. I didn’t that care my back twinged with pain. I was in pleasure heaven.

  “Crap, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His eyes searched mine.

  Don’t stop. He groaned as I tugged his hair, kissing him hard.

  Callan pressed against me, grinding unashamedly. I was stuck between the cold wood of the bench and the hard heat of him.

  This was too fast. I didn't trust him. He probably didn't trust me. And yet I couldn't stop kissing him.

  My breath caught as his hands moved from my back to scrape against my naked ribcage, slinking upward. His thumb grazed the underside of my breast.

  I moaned. Loudly.

  Heat was everywhere. I knew I should stop this, but how? Why would I when I wanted to continue? Was it wrong to let him touch me? To want him?

  My head fell back as he cupped my breast, tweaking my nipple with dexterous fingers.

  “Ocean, you're amazing. You taste incredible.” His voice was deep and gruff, threaded with lust and need.

  My stomach melted; my core grew wet. I'd never been this out of control before. Never had someone touched me this way.

  I tugged his t-shirt. I needed skin on skin. I wouldn't stop. I wouldn't deprive myself of something I wanted.

  Callan got the message and grabbed the material, ripping it over his head. His chest was golden and smooth, apart from a tuft of hair between his pecs, and a silky happy trail that disappeared into his jeans. My mouth watered. I couldn't stop myself. I reached out and traced the shape of his erection, barely contained by his trousers.

  He shuddered; emerald fire blazed in his eyes. “God, you drive me wild.” His head dipped and he sucked my nipple.

  This was crazy. Nuts. But oh, so good!

  I was past speaking; all thoughts of rationality were gone.

  Callan wrapped his arms around me and placed me on the kitchen counter. Seriously, we were doing this in the kitchen?

  He fumbled with my waist band. My leggings didn't have buttons, but they were stretchy enough for his fingers to brush against me. Holy fuck. Yes, we were doing this in the kitchen.

  Somehow, Callan tugged my leggings down, ripping them off me. He noticed the bandages around my legs and growled. It was a beast of a sound, not from a man, but a lusty male who was past the point of reason. This couldn't be stopped; no matter that it was a mistake and I’d leave the second he gave me my money.

  He took my foot, kissing his way up
my leg.

  I leaned down, grabbing him round the shoulders. His flesh was on fire. “Callan. Come here.” My skin missed his skin. My lips wanted his lips.

  He pounced on me, lips crushing mine. I tasted urgency on his tongue, the metallic taste of desperation. He needed this as much as I did. Something drove us. Something primitive.

  It was my turn to fumble with his fly. It came away easily, and I pushed his jeans off his hips. He stepped out of them, but my eyes locked on his straining black boxer-briefs. The tip of him escaped the waistband.

  I reached to rip his boxers off and take him. But he picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around him. Damp knickers connected directly with his hot hardness. I gasped, biting his ear. “Callan. . . I want you.” I was wanton, and yet I wasn't embarrassed.

  “God, Ocean. You’ve poisoned me. Your lips are venomous. I’ll never get enough of you.” His voice was thick as he stumbled from the kitchen. Where were we going? The balcony door was wide open, the night sky a black void. Could people see us?

  Before I could worry, Callan dropped me. I sailed through the air and hissed as my back connected with his sofa. Ow, that hurt. But I liked that he was so far gone he forgot to be gentle with me. Forgot I was injured and handled me with rough lust. It fanned the flames of need, subduing my pain. He pressed on top of me.

  Fingers, in their rush, ripped my delicate knickers, and they hung on my hip in tatters. He smiled against my mouth. “Oops.”

  “I'll buy another pair with the money you owe me,” I panted. After I paid Clark—I always paid my debts.

  He chuckled, then growled as one long finger disappeared in my heat. “God, you're wet.”

  Just hearing him say that almost made me lose it. My back arched; all reasoning shot out of my head. Holy sex on fire, his finger felt amazing. Slow and firm, curving and stroking. He pushed another finger deep. I bit his shoulder, my hands scrabbling at his back.

  I had to have him. Now.