by Lora Leigh
Slender, silken arms held tight to him, quiet sobs tearing past her lips as he tried to shelter her, to protect her from the memories. Memories he knew were far more destructive to her personally than that single word.
“I should have told you,” she cried out then, shuddering his arms. “The day I saw that meeting, I knew something was wrong. I saw his face, the look on it as the two men with him were turning. I saw the fear and that look of horror…”
Her fingers clenched in his shirt, tightened in it as her body drew tight from the pain he could sense lashing at her.
“Who?” He knew when she’d told her father that she didn’t know who was at that meeting that she’d been lying. And her father had known it too.
“Poppa will just kill him.” The fear she felt that her father would act out of rage filled her voice. “It was my fault. My fault Shelly died. My fault you were lost to me … my fault…”
That fucking bond. He felt her in a way he’d never felt another human in his life. Inside him. A part of him. Sweet heaven, Grandpops had been right.
“It wasn’t your fault.” He held her, fought his own rage. He couldn’t let her sense it, couldn’t let her know he could become far more of a monster than her father ever thought to be. “Not Shelly. Not me.” He kissed her temple. “Not our child.”
The wail that tore from her throat cut through his soul like a jagged blade. But she knew. She’d remembered what she’d lost in the hours she’d spent at her abductors’ hands.
She’d known, and she’d held it inside, until now.
“They knew.” She tore from his arms, her arms wrapping around herself, hands clenched into fists as she stalked to the other side of the room and turned back to him. “They knew I was pregnant. They knew, and they meant to cause the miscarriage. They knew you’d come for me, and they meant to kill both of us. Kill us. Weaken Poppa…”
Her hands tunneled through her hair as a helpless grimace twisted her expression. “And I don’t know why, Riordan. I don’t know why. But when I saw his face at that meeting…”
“Who, Amara?” She knew.
Riordan could feel that knowledge feeding inside her, building, memories sliding slowly, insidiously through her mind. Even as she stood there watching him, the expression on her face filled with misery, he could sense the dawning feelings of betrayal and pain. And the remnants of terror.
That terror would break him. Her terror, the inky darkness and pain she couldn’t fight, couldn’t escape. Because he’d left her alone. Unprotected.
“The private rooms of the restaurant. The door was just open,” she whispered. “I saw his face, and I wouldn’t have paid any attention, but when he saw me, I saw the fear. He looked sick with it. Because I’d seen him. But, I didn’t realize what it was at first. I wouldn’t have even remembered seeing him, but the two men with him were turning…” Her lips were parted, disbelief and betrayal filling her expression. “It was John Parrick, the ADA I sometimes interned with, but it was who he was meeting with. I saw one of the men he was meeting with. And … it’s not possible, Riordan…” She shook her head slowly. “It’s just not possible…”
He stared back at her, waiting, knowing she needed the time to let those memories become clear enough, to allow herself to be certain enough, to give him the name he needed.
Confusion filled her expression before she gave her head another hard shake.
“None of it makes sense,” she cried out, a sob tearing from her. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Who?” he snapped.
He wanted that name, he wanted to know who to go after, whose blood to spill for the horror she’d suffered and the loss of the child she carried. Their child. A part of the overwhelming emotion and bond they shared. The tiny life they’d created together, would have loved together.
* * *
She couldn’t do it.
Amara stared back at Riordan, knowing she couldn’t say that name, couldn’t accuse him without staring into his eyes, facing him with it.
He’d helped raise her. He’d been a part of her life, helped save her life when she was only a child. She couldn’t sign his death warrant without knowing, without seeing his eyes, his expression when she demanded to know why.
Her father had raised her to be stronger than this. She’d faced the loss of her memories with more strength than this. She hadn’t hidden in her room and refused to face life then. And she wouldn’t hide in her room now and let others make the accusation to one of those who had guarded her for so long.
Why guard her? Why defend her as a child, only to betray her now?
“No!” The word was a guttural growl from Riordan, causing her to stare back at him surprise. “I won’t let you do whatever it is you’re considering. Don’t even say it.”
She blinked back at him, staring into those incredible eyes, and realized the part of her that had always felt him. From the moment they met, she’d known him, had somehow sensed what she was going to do, what she was going to demand.
It had been there the moment they met. It had snapped into place with their first kiss. A sense of knowledge, a bond that ensured they’d never be alone.
She hadn’t been alone during those horrific hours she’d been held by her abductors either. He’d been there. She’d felt him.
“I have to face him,” she whispered painfully. “You know I have to, Riordan. I have to face him. You know I have to.”
Because he was such a part of her life. A daily part of her life. Always with her father, always watching over them.
“Amara.” The demand in his voice was impossible to miss.
Dominance, that male intensity when faced with the certainty that a woman wasn’t going to be swayed. She’d faced it before, with him. And with it, that spark of hunger and heat that she couldn’t help but respond to.
It had always been this way with him. From that first meeting to the night before he left for England. He made her respond whether she was angry with him or simply challenging him.
He made her ache for him.
“I have to,” she stated again, firmly, her head lifting, her shoulders straightening. She had to. Period.
She had no other choice.
chapter twenty-two
There she was. Riordan couldn’t help but stare at Amara with a mixture of pride, lust, and pure love.
God, he loved her.
Until that moment, that second, even he hadn’t realized how much she was a part of him.
That didn’t mean he’d let her endanger herself so easily.
“No.” He reached her in a few steps and pulled her against him, staring into eyes that gleamed with stubborn, female determination. “You’ll tell me, and I’ll take care of it, Amara.”
“No, I won’t.” She pushed against his chest, her eyes narrowing on him, her features flushed with anger, with arousal.
Damn her, the things she did to him, they made him crazy, they made him feel. For years he’d fought to not feel anything. To ensure that nothing could touch him inside. And then Amara. He’d been helpless against her.
He was still helpless against her, but not so damn helpless he’d allow her to endanger herself.
“You will!” The growl that tore from his throat was a dangerous sound as he well knew.
Dangerous, and hungry.
Before she could challenge him again, he lowered his head and covered her lips with his, stealing her protests. And it was like gasoline to fire. The most potent, most intoxicating liquor to hit a man’s head.
She made him drunk on lust. Drunk on the need for her and the overwhelming emotion she pulled from his soul. He was a man used to controlling his emotions, his needs, but there had never been any sense of the steely control he used to possess since the moment he’d met this woman.
Parting her lips, his tongue swept in, tasted her. The moan that whispered from her only fueled the need. The hands that buried in his hair to hold him to her made him crazier for her.
His.
She was his.
He tore at her clothes, at his own, as his lips held her captive. Buttons popped free, seams tore. And he’d be damned if he cared. Nothing mattered but getting to sweet, silken flesh and possessing her senses as she possessed his.
To mark her soul as she marked his.
“I won’t lose you again,” he all but snarled as he pulled back and swung her into his arms. “Never again, Amara.”
* * *
She couldn’t lose him again.
The room spun as Riordan lifted her into his arms and strode to the bed. Laying her on the blankets, his lips covering hers again, she was distantly aware that he was working his boots and his jeans off even as she struggled with her own.
What made her wear so many damn clothes? Now she remembered why she liked dresses and skirts so much better around Riordan. It didn’t take near as long to undress. If she had to undress at all.
As the jeans and silk panties cleared her feet to be kicked aside, those amazing lips moved from hers, along her neck and jaw, spreading sensations that stole her breath and pulled another of those low, pleasure-tortured moans from her lips.
Sensations raced across her flesh, shot to her nipples, her clit. Each touch, each scrape of his teeth and lick of his tongue, had her arching closer, desperate for more.
And just as desperate to show him the same pleasure.
Pushing at his shoulders, struggling beneath him, she was well aware he went to his back because he wanted to. Even as he did so, he pulled her over him until her legs straddled his waist and his lips captured one far too sensitive nipple.
“Riordan.” She breathed his name out on a moan, her eyes closed as pleasure washed over her.
The draw of his lips on the sensitive tip, the lash of his tongue, was exquisite. She could feel each pull on the tight bud in a burst of sensation at her clit.
Tilting her hips, she moved against the hard contours of his waist, the bunch of muscle, the stroke of heated male flesh against the bundle of nerves had her hips shifting, moving against him. It was the lightest touch to the swollen bud of her clit, a tease and nearly more than she could bear.
Her breath caught as his hands stroked from her hips, along her back, to her shoulders then to her hips again. Callused flesh rasped against her softer skin, caressed and excited each nerve ending. Each draw of his mouth and scrape of his teeth on her nipple sent her senses spiraling out of control.
What he did to her …
He made her high on sensation, and she loved it. The sensitivity of her body, the pleasure of his touch, that edge of pain he liked to give her.
His hands caressed her hips, then the curve of her rear where they clenched in the flesh, parted them, and sent a heated surge to the sensitive entrance they revealed.
The spill of slick heat from her pussy was a slow stroke of increased hunger. A cry slipped from her as she thrust closer to rub against the tight abs beneath.
Her pussy ached, clenched. The need for him was growing by the second in ways it hadn’t when he first took her. It was like a fire, a flame licking over her, inside her, demanding him.
His lips moved from one nipple to the other, sucking and drawing at the tight tip, licking over it as he held her in place and ignored the desperate cries she couldn’t hold back.
“Please.” The moan was torn, pleading, as she tried to lower her body, to get closer to the fierce length of his cock that brushed against her rear. “I need you.”
His hands clenched on her rear again, his teeth scraped her nipple. She could barely breathe. Heat rushed through her body as her pulse pounded through her veins, thundering with excitement, with the knowledge of the intensity of sensations waiting on the horizon.
When he drew back, her breath caught at the loss of his mouth against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Ride me,” he demanded, the wicked, sensual look on his face causing her stomach to clench in reaction.
Her breathing increased, the drugged fervor overtaking her. Oh God. That suggestion nearly had her coming from the sound of it alone.
Strong hands gripped her hips, pushed her lower, until the slick folds of her sex met the throbbing crest waiting to penetrate her.
“Riordan.” His name slipped past her lips, a breathless cry of searing need and hunger as he controlled her movements, forced her to ease against him rather than take him as she wanted. As she needed.
“Easy, baby.” He ignored her desperate movements, the plea in her eyes staring up at her, the gleam of sapphire fire between thick black lashes holding her gaze. “Ride me slow and easy.”
Slow and easy? Slow and easy would kill her.
As the first fiery stretch at her entrance began, her lashes dropped further. Her fingers curled against muscular biceps and her head tipped back. Sensation, striking and intense, lashed at her, stealing her senses, her breath.
She barely heard the cry that parted her lips. A sound she’d never made before, even with Riordan. She’d always been quiet, always been aware her bodyguards would hear her pleasure, and report it.
It didn’t matter now. She belonged to him totally, but even more, she knew he belonged to her.
Each push inside her tender flesh had her crying out for him, feeling him in agonizingly slow degrees as he took her, inch by inch. Impaling her with the broad shaft in heated strokes of pure ecstasy.
How could it be this good, this hot? How can any man’s touch sap protest, steal the senses, and chain a woman’s desires as he did hers? No, he didn’t chain them. He mesmerized them. Owned them.
“Feel how good it is, baby,” he groaned, hips lifting to push deeper inside her. “So sweet and tight. The way you grip me.”
Deep, involuntary spasms of her inner muscles had her clenching on the thick shaft easing inside her.
“Ah fuck … Amara.” His hips jerked, slamming his cock deeper and dragging a ragged cry from her lips.
Tightening her thighs on his, Amara pushed into the thrust, taking more. Demanding more.
“Damn, baby,” he groaned, his expression tightening, a grimace of pleasure pulling at his face as she strained to take more. “That’s it. Take all of me.”
Her pussy rippled around the impalement, taking him, crying out with the pleasure, the heat of each stretching penetration of her body.
“Give me all of you then,” she cried out, her fingers tightening, nails digging into his upper arms. “Let me have you, Riordan.” Her hips flexed, inner muscles clenching. “Let me ride you…”
The guttural curse that tore from his throat came as his hips arched, burying his cock inside her, and then he let her have her way.
* * *
She was beautiful. Black curls framed her face as the blue gray of her eyes darkened, narrowed. Her body undulated, driving the fist-tight sheath of slick silk up and down his cock.
Clasping her hips, he let her have her way, let her ride him, impaling herself with the tortured length of his erection.
Fuck. It was good. Fist tight. Heated.
She worked her pussy over his erection, tightening, clenching, rippling over the sensitive head and throbbing shaft, pushing him closer to release.
Never had he seen anything, anyone, so beautiful.
His Amara.
And she rode him like a dream.
Sensual, sinuous movements, rising and falling, her gaze heavy lidded and locked with his, seeing into him as he saw into her.
* * *
She was consumed by him. He filled her, penetrating her in ways that went far beyond the physical, beyond anything she could have imagined existing. The rush of pleasure, of sensual heat and pure sexual sensation was more than she could bear. With each stroke she could feel that edge, the whirlwind of ecstasy growing nearer, stealing her mind, taking a part of her soul.
“Riordan,” she cried out his name, allowing him to guide her now, allowing his hands to lead her, to keep her from flying apart when it took her.
“I have yo
u, baby,” he groaned. “Mine. I have you, Amara.”
It struck with such force, with such overpowering intensity, she was afraid she might have screamed his name. The pleasure coalesced, imploded, and sent her spiraling into waves of exquisite ecstasy.
She writhed within the grip of it, pushing into each thrust, feeling his body tighten and hearing him groan her name as his own release rushed over him.
The world tilted until she found herself beneath him, her legs pushed back, her knees bent over his arms, and him hammering inside her. Desperate, driving strokes that threw her deeper into ever-growing waves of desperate rapture.
“I love you.” She gasped the words she’d fought to hold back, to keep to herself.
She gave him that last measure of herself as he tightened above her, his lips burying at her shoulder as he marked her again. A mark she knew she wouldn’t bother to hide should it show. A physical mark that did nothing to compare to the mark he placed on her soul.
And all she could do as she lay in his arms was cry. For what she’d lost, for what she’d nearly lost, and for the loss that was coming.
* * *
Minutes, hours passed—Amara didn’t bother counting time. It was still dark, the light from the gas flames flickered through the room, casting Riordan’s features in shadow but doing nothing to hide the gleam of his sapphire eyes.
Lying next to him, turned to him, Amara felt the ragged shards of everything she’d tried to hide, tried to hold back, ripping through her. “Our baby,” she whispered as his thumb brushed against her cheek. “They took our baby, Riordan.”
“They’ll pay for it.”
And there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that someone would indeed pay. She didn’t try to stop the tears this time—there was no strength left to hold anything back.
Lying against his chest as he pulled her to him again, his hand stroking her back, her arm, she let the tears fall, let the pain free. It was the only way she could do what she knew she had to do, tell him what she had to tell him.