Taken

by Cynthia Eden

  “Because some big stories are coming . . . big . . . things aren’t going to stay quiet much longer. You had a chance . . .”

  A chance? A chance to do what?

  “Now it’s my turn . . .” The line went dead.

  Paul walked into the cavernous parking lot, aware that he’d started to sweat.

  “Asher . . .”

  His shoulders stiffened when he heard Bailey’s voice. “Sorry about . . . that. I just got worried about you. But I shouldn’t have just . . . barged in.” What in the hell had he been thinking? “It won’t happen again.”

  “People seem to worry about me a lot. The shrink I see worries that I’ll have a breakdown.”

  He glanced back at her. She wore only a dark blue robe, one that skimmed down to the middle of her thighs. “You won’t.”

  She took a step toward him. “Wyatt worries I’ll crumble under the pressure from the press.”

  “Not you.” Asher was adamant. He didn’t think she’d ever crumble.

  “My ex-lover Royce worried I’d never be the same. That I would never get past what happened to me.” Another step. She was so close to him now.

  “You will. And that guy sounds like a dick.”

  “He was a dick.” Her hands were in the deep pockets of her robe. “But do you want to know what I worry about?”

  Instantly, he was reaching to curl his hands over her arms. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll stay here all night.” The last thing he wanted was for her to fear anything. But after finding that body, shit, he knew all of her worst memories—memories of the Death Angel—must be flooding back to her.

  She gave a hard shake of her head. “I worry about losing me.”

  “Bailey—”

  “I’m not this scared, timid person. This woman who is afraid to touch life. Afraid to let go and have fun. Afraid to take pleasure and enjoy herself. Afraid to laugh and . . .” Her voice broke. “He took something from me that night. When his hands were around my neck and I couldn’t get free. When he dumped me in that grave and left me to die.”

  His chest burned as he listened to her speak.

  “The woman that Wyatt pulled out of the grave? She wasn’t me. She was afraid of everything. She woke up at night, shaking and crying.” Her long lashes swept down, covering her eyes. “She still does that, and I am sick of it. I am sick of the fear. I want my life back. I want me back.”

  He wasn’t staring at a timid woman who’d had everything taken from her. When he looked at Bailey, he saw strength. Perseverance. Courage. That was the same thing that everyone saw; didn’t she get that? Why did she think the public had become so obsessed with her? Bailey Jones was the hero. The woman who had survived a madman’s attack. The only known survivor.

  “So it’s time for me.” Those lashes lifted, revealing the green gaze that always seemed to gut him. So bright. So gorgeous. Unforgettable. As long as he lived, he would never be able to erase the memory of Bailey’s eyes from his mind.

  “And it’s time for us,” she whispered.

  Then Bailey shrugged his hands off her body and she let the robe drop.

  Fuck me. I won’t ever forget a single inch of her.

  She stood there before him, her body completely exposed, and she was beautiful. Perfect. Full, pink-tipped breasts. A flat stomach. Hips that curved and made his mouth water. Sexy as all hell. Long legs that stretched and stretched.

  And her sex. Shaved. Bare. His fingers were already reaching to touch her but he clenched his fists. “Bailey . . .” Her name was torn from him. “Be sure . . .”

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “I am sure. Sure I want you to make love to me. I don’t know that I’ve ever been more sure about anything in my life.”

  “I’m not . . .” The gentlest of lovers. He liked hard and wild sex. The kind of dirty fucking that left him hollowed out. Making love? When had he ever done that? A woman like Bailey, she’d deserve that. All of those tender touches and soft caresses. She was made for things like that. He was already nearly shaking with the lust he felt for her. His control wouldn’t last long.

  I am not the man she needs. That knowledge went soul deep. But there is no way in hell or heaven I can give her up. Because she’d gotten to him . . . Bailey with her gorgeous eyes. Bailey with her husky voice. Bailey with her spine of fucking steel.

  His hand sank into the heavy curtain of her hair, still wet from her shower. He leaned over her and that delicious scent that was pure Bailey Jones wrapped around him. His dick shoved at the front of his sweats. “Sweetheart, I will try my damn best to be careful with you.”

  She rose onto her toes. Braced herself against him. He bent toward her and Bailey’s perfect little white teeth closed on his lower lip and she gave him a sensual nip.

  Fuck.

  “Who said . . .” Bailey whispered against his mouth, “that I wanted you to be careful?”

  No, she didn’t know what she was asking for. She’d said make love. Not fuck like animals. She—

  “I haven’t been with anyone since before the attack. I haven’t wanted anyone . . . only you.”

  His body shuddered. Did she have any idea just what she was doing to him?

  “I want to do this your way, Asher. Show me what you like. Because I’m ready for everything you can give to me.”

  Oh, sweetheart, be careful what you say.

  She nipped his lower lip once more and arousal had his dick jerking eagerly toward her. In an instant, Asher took control. He drove his tongue past her lips and tasted the wine of her mouth. And sure enough, he felt drunk on her. He kissed her deeper and harder and loved the faint moan that built in her throat.

  But it wasn’t enough. She was naked and he needed to touch her. Every single inch of her.

  I have to make Bailey enjoy this. Have to make her want me again and again.

  Because he already knew that was the way he would want her, endlessly.

  So his hands locked around her waist. He lifted her up—she was too damn light. He kept kissing her as he walked and Bailey wrapped her legs around him, putting her sex right over his surging cock. His hands tightened on her waist, and her tight little nipples stabbed against his chest. He’d be tasting those nipples, he’d feel them beneath his tongue, and he’d make her go wild while he licked her into a frenzy.

  So many things that he wanted to do with his beautiful Bailey . . .

  He made it to her bedroom. He rather considered that a minor miracle. Asher flipped on the lights because he didn’t want her hiding from him. When he took her, he wanted to see her, every single moment.

  Asher put her on the side of the bed, positioning her body so that her legs dangled over the edge. A quick frown pulled at her face as she said, “Asher, what—”

  He pushed her legs apart and her delicate, pink sex waited. In the next moment, his mouth was on her. He needed to taste her. The craving controlled him, and he licked and kissed, sucked and tasted, as she sank her hands into his hair and moaned.

  He wanted her to come this way. With his tongue on her sex and her hips surging toward his mouth. The first time should be this way. Then he’d know she had her pleasure. Know that she was ready for the deep thrust of his cock into her core.

  She was moaning again, her breath coming in quick pants. Those wild sounds were driving him mad. His hands rose up and his fingers closed around her breasts, stroking her nipples, squeezing them, flicking the tight little peaks with his fingers.

  “Asher!”

  She came against his mouth. He looked up and she was so fucking sexy. Her face flushed, her eyes went even greener, and her whole body shivered beneath him.

  Perfect.

  Another long lick, and he was on his feet. It took five seconds too long to realize that he was just wearing his sweats and that his wallet—and his condom—weren’t close by. “Don’t move,” he gritted out then he strode for the door.

  “Asher—wait! What are you doing?”

  He didn’t stop. His cock wa
s so erect the damn thing hurt. He marched straight for the guest room and grabbed his wallet and the condom that he was freaking glad as all hell to possess. And he headed back for Bailey.

  But he froze in her doorway.

  Bailey had grabbed the bedcovers and pulled them over her body. She’d pushed up in the bed and her hair was a tangle around her—sensual as fuck. But her shoulders were hunched and her cheeks too red.

  “I told you not to move.”

  Her head whipped up. “You also ran out of the room right after—” She broke off and that flush deepened on her skin.

  Not a flush from sensual release. From embarrassment. That wasn’t going to work, not for him and not for her. When it came to her body, when it came to the things he’d do to her body, she should never be embarrassed.

  “I left right after you came against my mouth,” Asher finished.

  She lifted the bedcovers a bit higher, making sure that her gorgeous breasts were covered. “Fine, yes, after that. You bolted.”

  He lifted up the condom. “Trust me, sweetheart, I was coming right back.”

  “You . . . oh. Right. Condom.”

  He tore open that foil packet. “I thought I told you not to move.”

  “Giving orders . . . is that the SEAL thing again?”

  A hard smile curved his lips as he stalked back to her. He put the condom packet down on the bed and leaned over her, bracing his hands on either side of her body. “You don’t need to cover up. Thought we’d already established that. I freaking love your body.”

  “Asher . . .”

  He caught the covers with his fingers and pulled them away. “I think you have the best breasts that I’ve ever seen.” Full and round, thrusting toward him with those tight tips. He just had to lean forward and put his mouth on her.

  And when he did, she gave that breathy moan that now addicted him.

  Taking his time, even though every instinct he possessed screamed for him to take her, Asher kissed his way to her other breast. And he lingered a moment on the thin, white scar that sliced into her chest.

  She trembled beneath his mouth.

  Then he was kissing her other breast. Licking. Sucking. And Bailey’s hands were tight around his shoulders as she pulled him closer. Good. Because closer to her was exactly where he wanted to be.

  His fingers trailed over her stomach. He could feel the raised marks that had been left by the Death Angel. Those marks pissed him off. No one should ever hurt her. To think of some bastard cutting into her skin . . .

  “You make me feel so good,” Bailey whispered. Her sensual words were the best temptation he’d ever heard.

  “Sweetheart, I’ll make you feel even better,” he promised.

  Her lashes swept up. Her gaze held his. “I’ll make you feel the same way.” Then her fingers were reaching for him. She shoved down his sweatpants and his cock—overeager bastard that he was—sprang toward her. Bailey didn’t hesitate. She was still on the bed, he stood at the edge, and she leaned forward and put her mouth on him.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Asher’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head. Okay, maybe they did roll back. Her mouth was so wicked hot and her little tongue was about to lick him straight into oblivion.

  Only there was one problem with that. When he blasted into oblivion, he wanted to be in her. His hands closed around her shoulders and—carefully—he pushed her back onto the bed.

  “Asher, I want—”

  “I need to fuck you.” His words were guttural.

  She smiled. “Then what are you waiting for?”

  He had the condom on in about two seconds. He tossed his shirt toward the wall because he wanted to feel her against his skin, and then Asher climbed into the bed. Her legs parted and a dull drumming filled his ears. He didn’t put his hands on her. If he had, he knew he would have touched her too hard. Held her too tightly. So he slammed his hands onto the bed on either side of her body.

  She reached for his cock. She positioned him at the entrance to her body, and when she arched her hips toward him, Asher thrust deep and hard into her.

  She lost her breath, he heard the choked gasp, and Asher damn near lost his mind. She was tight and hot and wet, and when he pulled out—and thrust back in again—her sex clamped greedily around him. Her legs curled around his hips. Her nails sank into his sides and she pulled him closer. Her breathy cries urged him on and the bed shuddered beneath him as he drove them both toward release with a wild frenzy of thrusts.

  He wasn’t holding back with her. He couldn’t. Asher was too far gone for anything but a lust-crazed mating. She was so soft. So warm. No, hot. His climax bore down on him, but Asher wanted her to come again first. He had to make it good for Bailey.

  He wanted to fucking ruin her for all other men. Maybe that made him a selfish bastard, but he didn’t really give a shit. He wanted her to always remember him and the pleasure that he could give to her.

  Asher changed the angle of his hips, making sure that when he thrust down, his cock slid over her clit. Her nails dug into him, harder and rougher now, and he growled his pleasure because she felt so fantastic.

  Then she stiffened beneath him. Her green gaze seemed to go blind as she stared up at him, and her sex squeezed him so tight, fast contractions around his cock that drove him straight into—

  Oblivion.

  He erupted into her, pouring out his release on a wave that seemed never-ending. And he kissed her, drinking in her pleasure as he came, as she came. His thundering heartbeat filled his ears and her softness surrounded him.

  Best sex of my life. He knew it with utter certainty. Best fucking ever.

  He kept thrusting into her, determined to ride out the last bit of pleasure. His mouth slowly lifted from hers as he peered down at her.

  Her eyes gleamed, and her smile made his heart ache. “I think you were worth waiting for,” Bailey murmured.

  He knew she sure as hell had been.

  And I feel just like that . . . like I’ve been waiting too long . . . for her.

  He saw the lights turn out in Bailey’s house. He’d been watching her. Seeing her too easily through the curtains.

  Bailey Jones hadn’t been alone in her bedroom. No doubt about it, she was definitely fucking the new guy in her life. Interesting. She’d played the innocent for months. The too-good-to-touch routine had gnawed at his insides.

  He was glad she’d dropped the act.

  But he wasn’t thrilled about the new player on the scene. Especially since he didn’t know much about the bastard. While he’d been waiting for those lights to shut off—and for them to fucking finish—he’d taken down the license number on the motorcycle that waited in Bailey’s drive. Soon enough, he’d know plenty about that guy.

  Soon enough, this little town would be on fire again, and he’d be right there, ready to see it all go down in a blaze of glory.

  Careful now, he eased toward her porch. He’d wanted to leave his little present earlier, but he’d been delayed.

  Bailey was a necessary piece in this game—the best possible pawn to use. He left his present on her doorstep and made sure to get the hell out of there as fast as he could.

  You never knew when a nosy-ass neighbor might show up to send things to hell.

  He hurried away from Bailey’s house, sticking to the shadows, and when he was clear, he jumped into his vehicle.

  A smile curved his lips. Poor Bailey. She thought she’d escaped the death that waited for her.

  She had no idea her world was about to be ripped apart.

  There was a reason you were taken before.

  And there would be a reason when she was taken again.

  Chapter Seven

  The sunlight poured through the curtains, falling onto the bed and rousing Asher from sleep. He blinked blearily and glanced around.

  He’d stayed the night with Bailey. Stayed in her bed.

  His body stiffened as that realization dawned because when it came to lovers, he generally had one rul
e—don’t get close. And sure as hell don’t stay the night.

  With his past, he just couldn’t afford to make that mistake. So he took his pleasure, and he made damn sure his partner found hers, too. But staying in bed, sleeping with a lover—being that close to someone all night?

  Not an option. He had nightmares, fucking terrors from his past, that usually barely let him catch a whole hour’s worth of uninterrupted sleep. And when he did wake up—his SEAL training took over. He could be rough, dangerous—a threat.

  There had been one lover, just one before, that he’d slipped up with. He’d been a teen back then, and he hadn’t realized just how dangerous he could be.

  But the fear in his lover’s eyes had changed that. When he’d shaken the nightmare, come to his senses and realized what he’d almost done—

  I swore I would never take a chance like that again.

  Yet here he was. In bed with Bailey. With the woman he never wanted to hurt. Bailey—Bailey who mattered to him, more than any of the other lovers ever had.

  I won’t screw up like this again. I’ll be more careful. He was just real lucky nothing had happened last night. He would never ever want to hurt her. He would never want her to look at him with fear in her gaze.

  As things stood, Bailey looked at him like he was some kind of hero, and yeah, he was getting off on that shit. He liked the way he felt when she looked at him that way.

  I like who I can be, with her.

  Asher started to ease from beneath the covers. Maybe he’d go make her breakfast or do some nice shit like that. Women were supposed to enjoy that, right? He’d never made breakfast for a lover, not a single time in his life. Mostly because of that whole never-stay-the-night rule, but he wanted to do something good for her. He wanted—

  Bailey shifted a bit in her sleep, and the white sheet dipped away from her shoulder, revealing the black tattoo on her skin.

  For an instant, Asher was sure that the world stopped spinning. His heart stopped beating. His breath froze in his lungs.

  Fury iced his whole body.

  The wings were delicate, intricate. Not like a fairy’s, but stronger, wider. Angel wings. A permanent mark that graced Bailey’s skin. The Death Angel.