He pulled his arms between them and cupped Prudence’s face in his hands. “Angel? Look at me.” He had to repeat his request several times before her gaze focused. “When I was in prison, Randolph and his cronies used to do something called waterboarding, do you know what that is?”
He didn’t need her to answer. Her eyes dilated in stark terror and her breathing increased until he feared she might hyperventilate. She moaned low in her throat. “Please, please, don’t.”
That son of a bitch had tortured her. He cursed. When he found Randolph his death wouldn’t be quick like Alfred’s. Randolph would suffer. “I will never do that to anyone.” He gave her a little shake and bushed her hair from her face. “I will never do that to anyone. Not even my worst enemy. Do you understand?”
“Y-You . . . .” Her eyes blinked as if she were having trouble focusing.
“I’m not gonna dry-drown you. I swear to God. I swear on my parents’ graves.”
“But . . . y-y-ou had . . . .”
“Sweetheart, I swear to you, I might be a bastard, but I would never, ever do that to anyone.”
“He did that t-to y-you?”
Alarm bells went off in his mind. Why the hell did it matter to her? He gave her a quick nod.
Prudence launched herself at him, wrapping him in a full body hug. “S-so sorry.”
His face twisted as a burning lump of something awful parked itself in his throat. Tears pricked the back of his eyes and he blinked them away. Those days were over. They were light years from Randolph, Bronsen, and the prison. There was no reason for tears now. His response to her tender apology shocked him so much he almost shoved her away. But he couldn’t, because he had no doubt she’d been through the same and if she thought he needed comforting, that meant she needed it more. So Griffin bent his knees, bringing them both lower so the water covered the teeth marks on her arms and returned her embrace. The thought of anyone subjecting Prudence to the same torture he’d endured from Randolph made his gut twist.
“Tell me.”
Her quiet demand sent a bolt of terror through him. No one talked about torture. Not those doing it, and not those subjected to it. Torture was grim, disturbing. “No.” He softened his statement with a little squeeze. Lifting his hand out of the water, he stroked his palm over her cheek, trying to wash the dirt from her sunburned skin without upsetting her. She allowed him several passes and then let him shift her to his other shoulder so he could get to her other cheek while she rested her face against his wet shirt.
Her breathing calmed and her body relaxed against his until he thought she might have fallen asleep. He leaned back, resting his shoulders on the edge of the pool and let the cool, healing water lap over them. He liked her. Maybe that made him a traitorous wretch, her being a Parnell and all, but he couldn’t not like her. Not anymore.
“I hated coming to.”
Griffin pulled away to see her face.
She allowed him a quick glance, then pressed her face back onto his shoulder. “I always had a moment of panic right before I inhaled. My heart would be pumping so hard I could hear it in my head. And when I sucked in that breath, I could hear the water whoosh into my body as the pain started—the burn, and that horrible ache in my chest. But right before I died, I always had this split second of peace.”
The tremors coursing through her body seemed to jump right into his. Griffin swallowed hard. He knew what she was talking about and he loathed that she understood such a thing. After the third or fourth time, he had started looking for that brief glimpse of peace, started hoping he could stay with it. He’d dream about it. And while it didn’t sound so bad when he referred to that moment as peace, that moment was the split second everything shut down except his brain. The peace she spoke of was a silent heart. Still blood. Waterlogged lungs. That peace was the split-second before the electricity in his brain fizzled out. Dreaming about those quiet seconds, hoping for them, was a special brand of sickness. A madness only a man captive and tortured could comprehend. But she knew.
“Next thing I knew my chest was on fire, my eyes felt like they’d popped out and got rammed right back in my skull and everyone stood around watching. Eager to see it all again.”
And if he used her as a hostage, if he got his ship at her expense, he’d be sending her right back to hell. No wonder she ran from him. Bowing his head, he rubbed his cheek to hers. “I didn’t know.”
She stayed quiet and still, letting him comfort her, allowing him to take comfort for himself and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he experienced a true connection. A communion.
He’d be damned if Randolph got near her again. “You lied to me, Angel.” He kept his voice soft and rubbed his chin on the top of her head. “You didn’t come here to be a pioneer. You came here to escape.”
“I came for both. I’ve got a fighting chance here. I have opportunites.”
And he’d threatened to take all that away. “Turn around, Angel.” He disentangled her limbs from him and urged her to lay her head back on the crook of his arm and float. “I want your cheeks in the water. Put your head back and relax. I’ll keep you from going under.”
With her muscles so tense, her body kept sinking until he gave her his other hand to hold on to. One of his arms supported her, the other lay between her breasts as she clutched his hand in both of hers. He tried not to notice how see-through her tank-top was. The white material had turned a mottled gray from the black sands, but the dirt didn’t make the thing any less transparent. There was no mistaking the dark circles of her areolas or the tight points of her nipples.
His body grew hard and aching, making him hate himself a little more. She was tearing him up. He liked her, wanted her. But she had been married to his enemy. This attraction had to stop. Maybe they’d bonded over their mutual dislike of Randolph, but she was still Alfred’s widow. Equal parts of him wanted to protect her and scare her away, because as much as he resented her, he was starting to fall for her, too.
No. It had to be proximity. He pulled her up. “That should be good.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
She lifted her hand and placed her palm over his heart. “Do you understand now? I can’t go back.”
Griffin looked away. “I told you, I didn’t know.”
“Are you still going after a ship?”
He had to. He couldn’t leave the people of Earth at Randolph’s mercy. He couldn’t leave those stuck here on Asteria against their wishes without hope. He had made everyone’s lives worse. He couldn’t live with himself until he made things right or died trying. He nodded.
“Then it doesn’t matter. You’ll draw their attention. You’ll bring them here.”
Prudence pushed past him and clung to the side of the pool, going hand over hand until she reached a point she could put her feet down, and climbed out.
Griffin followed. “What do you want me to say? That I’m giving up? That I’m going to leave all of them to Randolph’s generous mercy?”
She whirled around. “Haven’t you ever considered that the Earthers might like the way things are?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should.”
Christ, he was in trouble. Her clothes clung to every soft curve, nook, and valley of her body. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her into submission and make her stop taunting him. “No. That son of a bitch did something. Did he drug the water? Brainwash them? Bribe them? I know you know.”
“None of the above.”
He pulled himself out of the pool and stood in front of her. “Don’t lie. I’ve been in the U.N. files. There were all kinds of pages blacked out with references to Alfred preparing things for the ‘persuasion of the masses.’ That’s what those documents said—of course the part describing how he persuaded the masses had been redacted. You’ve got to know—what did he do?”
*****
He was like the rest of them in every way but one—her body reacted to his.
>
As furious and upset as she was, she couldn’t help but notice the way his shirt plastered over his muscular physique, nor could she get the feel of him out of her mind. Moments ago, she’d had her whole body wrapped around his. She still might had he not started spouting nonsense.
“Alfred had some weird beliefs. Kind of like Hitler believed he’d gain power from religious artifacts and President McKinley believed a red carnation worn on his suit gave him luck. Even though each of those men truly believed in those things with their whole hearts, neither of them were true.”
Griffin let out a laugh, but there was no humor to it. His eyes darkened. “Why are you still protecting him?”
She threw up her hands. “Why can’t you believe me?”
“Because, I’ve seen all your pictures.” His gaze dropped, lifted, and then dropped again. “You standing there with Alfred, or Alfred and Randolph, smiling away for the holo-cameras. You looked happy in all those photos. Hell, you married the son of a bitch. Fucked him night after night. You gonna tell me you didn’t?” He stepped closer.
Prudence flung herself back, out of reach. “Can’t we have a civil conversation?”
He wasn’t even making an effort to look at her face now. He stalked closer. “I’m not civilized.”
That was a fact. Everything about him screamed feral. She glanced down to see what he stared at. The water had turned both her white tank-top and white bra to see-through. She covered herself with her arms. She intended to give him the set-down he deserved, but his finger grazed along her collarbone and her breath caught.
“Do you miss having a lover?” Those sea-green eyes of his fixed on her lips. “I think you’re as passionate as I am. You’re just better at hiding it.”
A shiver raced over her and it had nothing to do with the cool water still drying on her skin. “I’m not.” Passion had never been a part of her life. “I don’t like sex.”
“Then he was doing it wrong.” He stood so close, the heat from his body sent gooseflesh lifting on her skin. “You must miss some of it. The cuddling?”
She shook her head. “There was no cuddling.”
“The kissing?”
“No. There was no kissing.”
He grinned. “The feel of a hot tongue slipping through your curls?”
Her hand went to her straight, short hair.
“These.” He leaned in enough to let his thigh brush the juncture of her legs.
The intimate touch and the heat in his eyes made her nipples tighten in response. A breath shook out of her.
“Mm. You like that idea. I do, too.”
She tried to focus, tried to remember what all men wanted. Certainly not her. Never her. “You just want my gift.”
One tawny brow raised and he focused lit on her lips again. “Oh? What kind of gifts do you give?” The tip of his tongue dampened his lower lip, then he bit it.
Something sharp and aching rose deep in her belly. Heat swamped her cheeks. That horrid place between her legs grew damp. The way he looked at her made her feel wanted. Desired. And he didn’t seem to know anything about the legend of Lythonian women. That errant finger tracing lines along her collarbone and shoulder slipped lower, dipping down the V of her tank, between her breasts.
She sucked in an erratic breath. “I like respectable men.”
“You were married to one of those and engaged to another and look where it landed you. Here.” He stepped closer. “Alone.” He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his heat-filled eyes. “With me.”
“I don’t like you.”
He rocked back on his heels, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. “Maybe not, but your body does.”
The rogue was scenting her like a dog. She gasped.
“Come on, now, Angel. Don’t go getting offended. I like your scent. I can’t wait to bury my face between your legs.”
She pressed her thighs together, trying to stop the ache.
“And you know what? I won’t be civil. I won’t dine. It’ll be a goddamned feeding frenzy and I won’t stop until you pass out from the pleasure.”
Her entire body shook with the force of his words. She felt sensations in places long forgotten and vehemently hated. Her response to him terrified her. Not so much because the sensations were new and strange as much as because she knew they could never lead anywhere good. She wasn’t like other women. She’d disappoint him and he’d hate her for it. “I won’t.” The look on his face suggested he didn’t believe her. She shrugged. “I can’t. I’m frigid.”
The teasing glint left his eyes as he searched her face. She could almost feel his ardor wane. No one wanted a frigid woman. No one wanted to be with someone who couldn’t respond. And whatever drove Griffin to pursue her, it wasn’t worth enough for him to desire her, knowing she’d be unresponsive. She lowered her lashes, unsure what the pang in her chest was. Did she care? She came here for independence, to become her own person. The last thing she needed was an entanglement with Griffin Jude Payne.
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she tried to slip past him, but that wandering hand of his cupped her throat. She froze at the feel of his fingers curling around her neck.
“I forgot.” His words were somber, almost an apology, and his hand slid up to tangle in her hair. He pulled her head back until she stared up into his eyes. “I don’t think you’re frigid, Angel. You just had a shitty lover.”
Her lips parted on a protest lost against his hungry mouth. He was right, there was nothing civil about him. About this. His mouth was hot and spicy, his lips firm and his tongue did not beg entrance. He swept right in and took.
She gripped his shoulders, meaning to push him away, but instead found herself clinging to him.
“Kiss me back, Angel.” He nipped at her bottom lip. “You know you want to.”
Prudence almost lunged at him. There was something different about him. Something that made her joints go liquid and her belly get tight. Even when she fought with him, he made her breasts tingle and her pussy ache. She kissed him, wanting nothing more than to find a way to curl up right inside him and feel.
His hands moved, gliding up her damp arms, pushing them higher until her arms wrapped around his neck. His hands slid back down her sides until he gripped her ass and dragged her against the insistent bulge of his arousal. She let her head fall back, gasping, focusing all her attention on where their bodies touched.
Why him? Why did her body come to life for him?
All these years she’d longed for a hero, some pretty knight in shining armor who’d romance her with sweet entreaties. She wanted polite. She wanted tenderness. She wanted safe. Griffin was none of those things.
He suckled her earlobe into the heat of his mouth, his erratic breath echoing in her ear and sending shivers rolling over her flesh. There were no sweet kisses, instead he marked her throat with teeth, scored her flesh with hot, bruising sucks.
Needy, uncouth noises broke past her lips. Sounds she didn’t recognize. Sounds that made her blush.
Without warning, his big hands gripped the backs of her thighs, spreading them as he lifted her and pinned her against the closest tree.
She rubbed her core against him, needing the friction, needing more. Shivery bolts of pleasure raised goose flesh on her skin and made her inner muscles clasp with wanting.
His hands were on her face, fingers dragging over her lips, dipping into her mouth, teasing her into suckling them.
She wanted him. Oh, goddess, she wanted. And that terrified her. Despite being able to feel desire for Griffin, she still expected the end result to be disappointing. Embarrassing. Painful. She took a deep breath and pushed away, stumbling when he allowed her her freedom and lowered her to her feet.
He reached out to steady her. “Easy there.”
Prudence smoothed her hands over her shirt, looking everywhere but at him. “I-I didn’t come to Asteria to be manhandled and bossed around. I came here for independence. For choices. Not for anyone to force me—�
�
“Hey, now. No ones talking about forcing anything, Angel.” He drew in closer, tipping her chin up so she had to meet his gaze. “You telling me you don’t feel the chemistry between us?”
She shook her head. She refused to lie.
“Good.” He wet his lips. “Then I’ll wait civilized-like until you’re ready to do something about it. You just say the word.”
He moved away and she felt bereft. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You cold?”
She nodded.
“You got any other clothes in that bag?”
She had a couple extra bras, underwear and socks, but nothing that would keep her dry and clothed. She shook her head. “I forgot to grab the sweaters from the escape pod.”
He tossed her a button-down shirt from the pack he’d stolen and while she stood behind a bush to change into his shirt, Griffin shook out the sleeping pad she’d left behind last time they slept together. “Come over here if you want to get warm. I won’t debase you. Our clothes will dry soon enough, then we'll both be wishing we were back in that pond.” He lay down with his back to her, leaving plenty of room on the blanket for her to lie down behind him. After she changed, she scooted into the place he left between him and the wall and lay on her back, staring up at the stars.
The heat from his body helped her relax, and for the first time ever, she wondered what it might be like to lie beneath someone who cared for her. He’d been so gentle with her when she freaked out in the pond. She felt liked they’d bonded a little. Then he’d ruined it with his rubbish.
If he ever worked through his troubles, Griffin might be the kind of man she could love. And as they lay there together, she discovered she wanted to ease and reassure him the same as he’d done for her. She just wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.
The Last Marine Page 10