Kiss at Your Own Risk

by Stephanie Rowe

  Yeah, she’d be surprised when he was waiting for her outside.

  Then she’d realize exactly who was in control.

  ***

  Trinity’s heart was racing as she sped down the stairs, clutching her phone.

  And the EKG overkill wasn’t from the exertion.

  It was from the way he’d held her hand, as if she were some magical gift, some precious jewel. The way his throat had moved when he’d placed her hand on it, in the ultimate gesture of trust. She stumbled on the steps, and barely caught herself on the railing.

  Didn’t he understand how dangerous she was? Didn’t he care what monster swirled inside her?

  Her phone rang again and she quickly answered it. “Reina! How is Cherise?”

  “Oh, man, you’ve got to hurry. She’s locked herself in the conference room and she’s crying her eyes out. I can smell smoke, and I know she’s got one of her pitchforks ready to jam it into her heart. She said she’ll talk only to you.”

  “Tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Trinity shoved her phone in her purse as she leapt off the last stair. She didn’t have time to talk down one of the desperate clients at Triumphant Women Jamboree, Inc., the divorced women’s empowerment agency she worked at, but she didn’t have time not to.

  Helping these women was the only thing she did that made her feel good. It nourished the nurturing side of her she was so desperate to tap into. It gave her hope that there was something worth redeeming inside her soul. No matter how worked up she was, the widow always went to sleep the moment she walked into TWJ.

  And now… dear God, now… she had to go. Blaine was unhinging her, and pulling Cherise back from the edge of utter despair would stop the bleeding in a way nothing else would. She flung open the door to the parking lot and screamed as she plowed right into a hard wall. A wall that was warm and smelled really, really good.

  Blaine’s arms closed around her, and she caught the faint scent of smoke. “Going somewhere?”

  She looked up at him, and saw the hard lines to his face. Felt the tightness of his grip on her shoulders. The man was a solid mass of muscle and immovability that made her stomach do a little dance. Oh, crap. Her female side was totally jonesin’ for some loving from him. Was there any planet on which a manly man was convenient? Because this wasn’t exactly handy dandy for her right now. “It’ll take ten minutes, and if I don’t do it, I’m going to snap.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And that’s bad.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m a black widow. Take a guess.” The She-Beast-of-Love was stirring again. How could she not? Blaine might have killing issues, but he was so freaking tough that what woman wouldn’t respond to him on a biological level? Not that biology would get him killed, but Trinity had read way too many issues of Cosmopolitan not to know that women turned sex into love the way they turned chocolate into a three-course meal.

  Example #1: Barry.

  Blaine’s scowl deepened. “We don’t have time for this.”

  “Trust me, we don’t have time not to do it.”

  He searched her face, then he swore and released her. “I’m coming with you.”

  She shook her head. No man had been allowed to cross the threshold of the Jamboree since the day its doors opened five years ago. “Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Blaine raised his brows. “It’s that, or we’re going to my place. Take your pick.”

  “You’re insufferable! Such a guy!”

  He grinned, clearly pleased with her statement. “I appreciate the compliment, but that doesn’t change anything. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “You ever been around women who hate men?”

  Something dark flashed in his eyes. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Then you’ll feel right at home.”

  His jaw got hard, and she sensed his sudden tension. His apprehension. And she wished she didn’t have to take him. For his own well-being.

  Which was ridiculous.

  He was a warrior, for heaven’s sake.

  He could handle himself.

  Then she thought of the women at the Jamboree, and she wasn’t so sure…

  ***

  “Let’s get it done.” Blaine grabbed her arm and began to propel her down the sidewalk.

  “My car is the other direction—”

  “We’ll take mine.” He nodded ahead, and Trinity saw a large, black motorcycle parked up beside the curb.

  She stopped. “I can’t ride on that.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “It’s… dangerous.” It was the best word she could think of. She didn’t take risks right now. She kept all emotions tucked deep away inside, held tight like steel netting was wrapped around her. The motorcycle… too wild. Too adventurous. Too passionate. Too everything she didn’t dare to be.

  “Been riding for over a century. I’m good.” He strode toward it, not bothering to wait for her. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  “No.” But she was already walking toward it. She had to touch it. To feel what that kind of freedom felt like. She laid her hand on the seat. The leather was soft, but it felt tough at the same time. The chrome was gleaming. The wheels were immaculate. It was the ultimate expression of daring to take on life, of refusing to go gently, of feeling the passion and fire burn through her until she wanted to explode. Of embracing risk and danger.

  It was everything she couldn’t afford.

  Not in this moment. Not with the spider edging so close to the line.

  Right now, she needed to keep a stranglehold on her emotions. It was about self-control. It was about showing she could manage the cravings and desire burning inside her. It was about driving her Subaru below the speed limit while wearing her seatbelt.

  Blaine swung his leg over the seat, straddling the huge machine like he owned its soul. Like it was a demon he controlled by his mere presence. “Just got it. Nice, huh?”

  “I can’t ride that.”

  “You’re my ticket to freeing Christian.” He held out his hand to her. “Trust me, I’ll protect you. No chance you’re getting hurt with me around.”

  “It’s not that.” She clasped her hands behind her back, against the urge to climb on there with him. She could almost feel the wind blowing through her hair, that sense of being utterly free in a way she never had been. Ever.

  He turned the key, then punched the ignition button. The engine roared to life, so loud it drowned out the thoughts in her head. It thundered in her chest, made her body vibrate, reducing her to nothing but a physical, visceral reaction to the power and freedom it offered.

  He didn’t bother with a helmet. He didn’t bother to shout above the din. He just jerked his chin at her and revved the bike with a twist of the right handlebar.

  She saw the determination in his eyes. He was a man who wasn’t going to lose his race for Christian’s life.

  He wasn’t even considering it. He’d do whatever it took, and he’d succeed.

  She wanted to be like that. She wanted to be so sure, so confident, so certain in who she was and what she wanted that she never doubted herself again, never feared the monster within. She wanted to wake up in the morning with that same expression that Blaine was wearing. The one that knew, without a doubt, that she could have anything and everything she wanted.

  Maybe she’d been going about it the wrong way. Maybe fighting her passions had been a misguided approach. Maybe the right choice was to embrace her inner fire and let it shine.

  Blaine grinned, a smug look that told her that he knew she’d changed her mind.

  Even as she started toward the bike, even as she slid her leg over the seat behind Blaine, even as she wrapped her arms around his muscled waist, she knew she was using the logic as an excuse to get on and feel that fire, a choice she knew in her gut was the wrong one, the dangerous one, the choice of an addict unable to ditch the high.

  Blaine let the engine idle, and it subsided to a quiet roar. He pointed to pegs poking ou
t of the bike near her feet. “Rule number one. Your feet never, ever come off those pegs unless I tell you. Not even when I stop. Your feet get in my way, and we could crash, or you could burn your leg off.”

  Her heart started to race, but she put her feet on the rods. What was she doing, riding this bike? This wasn’t her. But it was too tempting. She wanted to live, just once. How could a bike ride trigger her into going crazy and becoming a murderer?

  By stripping her of what little self-control she had left, that’s how. What if she liked the high too much? What if she wanted it again? What if—

  He twisted around so he could look at her. “Second rule: You tuck up against me and let your body fall in with mine. When I lean into the corners, you relax and go with me. Got it?”

  Oh, man, she so couldn’t do this. Release all resistance and let the world take her? “I—”

  “If you need to stop, tap my side with your left hand. Other than that, just keep your feet on the pegs and let your body move with mine and the g-forces of the bike, and you’re good.” He grabbed her knees and crushed her thighs against the outsides of his.

  Heat began to throb through her inner legs. An awareness of his strength. Of the intimate feel of his body between her thighs.

  He flipped a grin at her over his shoulder. “The name of the game is submission, Trinity.”

  She stiffened. Submission was a dirty word in her vocabulary. Submission meant giving in to the curse.

  “Surrender yourself to the bike and to me.”

  “I can’t surrender to anything—”

  He revved the engine with a flick of his right wrist, drowning out her protest. She frantically hit him on his left side to tell him to stop, but all he did was raise one eyebrow at her. Then he ditched the kickstand and the bike began to roll.

  She lunged to get a grip around his waist, hugging desperately with all her strength. What had she been thinking—

  She suddenly became aware of a deep vibration echoing up from the bike, like the pulsing of a bass drum throbbing in her core, down her legs, in her belly, along her thighs where she was pressed so tightly around Blaine.

  And then the bike lurched forward with a squeal of tires. She tightened her grip around his waist, and then she felt the earth move beneath her. As the bike roared down the street, the cold wind whipped at her face, yanked at her hair, and her whole body shook with the vibration of a thousand pounds of force, she felt her soul come to life in a way she never had before.

  She raised her face to the sky, felt the sun fighting to warm her against the wind’s coldness, felt the heat of Blaine’s body between her thighs. He turned a corner and they leaned as one with the bike.

  She looked down as her right knee skimmed just above the pavement. They were going so fast, the ground was nothing but a gray blur, rushing past. Another inch closer and her kneecap would turn into a Frisbee. So close to utter destruction, dancing on the edge—

  He straightened the bike and they moved upright again. Away from danger. She’d threaded the edge, but she’d never really been at risk. She could feel Blaine’s complete control of the machine, of the power beneath them. One wrong move and the bike could be an instrument of carnage and lost dreams. But in Blaine’s grasp, it was a tool of pure, unadulterated freedom.

  To be able to control death so easily? To turn it from hell into joy? Tears filled her eyes as she pressed her cheek to Blaine’s back. The heat from his body pressed at her inner thighs, burning through her jeans. Her hair knifed at her cheeks, her shirt flapped ruthlessly, as if the fabric wanted to rip free from her body, to fly through the air. She hugged tighter, suddenly afraid.

  Blaine tapped her wrist and held his right arm up to the sky, like he was reaching for the sun. “You can let go,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Try it!”

  She shook her head and held tighter.

  She felt the laughter rumble in his chest, and then he leaned over the handlebars and the bike leaped forward, as if he’d unleashed a wild cat from a cage. She felt his muscles flex, felt a sudden energy pulse through his body, like sparks were jumping from his skin onto hers, and then he whipped the bike onto the highway, and let it all out.

  And all she could do was hang on.

  Chapter 10

  Blaine let out a small whoop as he eased the bike off the highway. Hellfire and damnation, he’d never get used to that. After a lifetime of chains, the feeling of that bike on the highway was pure freedom.

  Kicked ass.

  Trinity poked her hand around his shoulder and pointed up ahead. “Take this right,” she shouted.

  He glanced down at her hand. It was trembling. Fear or cold? He caught her hand and felt it. Like ice. Had it been cold on the highway? He hadn’t even noticed. He realized suddenly that her whole body was shaking, and she was pressed tightly against him. Shit.

  He immediately turned up his body heat and set it outwards, and he grinned when he felt her stiffen, and then snuggle tighter against him. Her thighs tightened around his hips, and her breasts were pressed up against his back. He could feel her ribs expanding with each breath she took, and she was so tightly wrapped around him that he could sense the minute the shivers began to ease.

  The intimacy felt weird. Foreign. He’d never been close enough to someone that he could feel them breathe. Hadn’t been touched by anyone without having to concentrate on where the next assault was coming from. Hadn’t used his heat to ease someone’s pain before. Hadn’t even thought of it.

  But he’d done it instinctively for Trinity.

  As he said, weird.

  Trinity let out a sigh and she sagged against him, resting her cheek against his back.

  The shivers were over, and he could feel the softness of her muscles. He could tell that she’d relaxed, and he liked it. Liked knowing she was trusting him enough to let down her guard.

  He slowed the bike down even further, made sure to avoid the pothole as he eased the bike gently around the corner.

  “Red doorway,” she shouted. “On the right.”

  Blaine looked up ahead, and swore when he saw what she was pointing to.

  The brownstone had large windows, a broad staircase with iron railings, and snapdragon flower boxes. English ivy climbed the walls. Ceramic swan pots of geraniums flanked a red door with a stained glass archway, a window almost exactly like the one he’d made when one of his young charges had been too injured to complete his project. Failure to produce would have meant more torture, so Blaine had stayed up all night with Nigel and Jarvis, trying to figure how to turn cross-stitching and painting skills into a stained glass masterpiece that would satisfy Angelica.

  This place was all girl, all flowers, all feminine, and it reminded him almost exactly of the hellhole that had ripped his masculinity from him for the last century and a half.

  A woman was hurrying up the front walkway. She was wearing jeans and a skimpy tank top—

  He stopped the bike dead before it registered that it wasn’t Angelica.

  He wasn’t back at the Den.

  “Blaine!” Trinity yelped and jerked back from him.

  He realized he was on fire. “Shit.”

  He shut it down as Trinity tumbled off the bike. She landed on her butt on the brick sidewalk, then scrambled to her feet. Her shirt was on fire, and she was frantically pounding at it. “Come here.” He leapt off the bike and grabbed her. He didn’t ask for permission, just yanked her against him and crushed her against his body. He immediately concentrated on drawing all the fire from her body into his, drinking it in like a stack of newspapers sitting next to a spark.

  Trinity went still against him, and he felt her heart hammering where she was rocked against his chest.

  “Almost done,” he said.

  Trinity pulled back, and her cheeks were still red. “You set me on fire?”

  He winced. “Yeah. Sorry about that. Wasn’t intentional.” What the hell? One look at an Angelica look-alike and he’d lost his shit? The chick hadn’t ev
en had the same color hair. Yeah, that was cool. What was he, a freaking kid?

  Soft. Trinity made him soft. He’d been all gooey thinking about her, and it had completely messed with him. No more of that crap. It was all business from now on.

  Her eyebrows went up. “You lost control?”

  Yeah, that was manly to admit. “I was distracted. I—”

  She grinned. “I’m so glad to know I’m not the only one.”

  “One who what?”

  “Loses control.”

  He stiffened. “I’m in complete control.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “So you meant to set me on fire?”

  “I—” Shit. Where were his comebacks now?

  “Trinity! Come on!”

  They both turned, and Blaine saw the woman he’d confused with Angelica waving at them from the top step. Now that his brain was functioning, he could see that petite auburn-haired gal wasn’t the witch, but she had a darkness to her aura that made his tattoo start to smoke. He’d felt that sludge around him every time he’d been teetering on the edge of death.

  Trinity waved. “Coming—”

  He caught her arm. “She works for Death.”

  Trinity looked at him in surprise. “I know. That’s my friend Reina.”

  He scowled. “You know?”

  “Yes, but this is her day job. She’s not killing anyone right now—”

  “Yeah, she is. I can feel it.”

  Trinity looked back at the gal, and she paled. “Oh, God, you’re right. Someone’s going to die. Reina!”

  She broke free of Blaine’s grip and started hauling ass right toward Death’s finest. Was she insane? He’d brokered a few deals with Death to save the souls of some of the kids in Angelica’s care, and the last thing he needed right now was a visit from that arrogant egomaniac.

  He was out of chits to bargain with if Trinity got herself embroiled in something she couldn’t get out of. He broke into a run to chase her down. He needed her, and he’d do whatever it took to keep her alive.