Lust

by Lana Pecherczyk

She faced him and found anguish in his expression. “So why did you leave?”

  “Because I had to prove I have what it takes. That I’m as good at saving lives as your family. I wanted to be better. Do you understand?”

  “Why on earth would you want that?”

  He gaped. “You, Liza. Because I want to be good enough for you. It’s all I’ve wanted. You kept me in the friend zone. I always thought maybe it was because of my father, who I might become. Or maybe your family was right, and I’d never be good enough. So I left. I had to see if I could be more. To be better than my roots. Then maybe... maybe you’d see it too.”

  Time seemed to stop. The rumble of thunder rolled through the skies like a soft warning that continued in her heart. Thud-thud. But she refused to listen. It was the residual alarm system her body used when lust sickened her, when it wanted to protect itself from inevitable pain when she found herself in this kind of situation—wet, with a perfect specimen of a man, and horny as hell. Only, there was no sickening in her stomach, just desire.

  “Fuck my brothers. Fuck your father,” she growled and took his lapels in a firm grip. “I know it’s their fault you have these doubts, and maybe that’s my fault, so fuck me too. I’m sorry I said nasty things to you. It was only ever to mask my insecurities. I never wanted a hero, Joe. I just want someone to hold. Someone to kiss without the pain.”

  His gaze dipped to her mouth. “Someone on your team.”

  “Yes, you dum—”

  He swallowed her words with a crushing kiss.

  16

  The honor code was something every FBI agent recited upon joining the bureau. Joe could hear himself pledging as clear as it was the first day he joined the FBI academy.

  I devote myself to the pursuit of truth and knowledge.

  I subscribe to the highest standards of honesty, integrity, fidelity, and honorable behavior.

  I will not condone the actions of those who would use dishonest means.

  It screamed at him from the back of his mind. He shouldn’t be in love with this woman. She represented everything he fought. He was a lawman because it was the furthest thing from his father’s brutality. He swore he would do better. Be better. If he gave in to this, it could be the first crack in his hard facade, the first step down the path to becoming the beast he descended from. But all he could focus on, all his body wanted, was the implacable woman turning pliant in his arms, for him. Desire was a heady drug working its way through his system. Finally. After decades. She was his.

  He pushed his code aside and then pushed Liza firmly against the wall of the pool. She let him. She let him push his tongue into her mouth and drive deep. She let him put his hand to her breast, squeeze, plump, and roll the nipple. Her resounding moan into his mouth made him harden even more.

  She let him take the lead.

  The notion blanked his mind. He pulled back.

  “Liza… how many times have you been with a man?”

  “What the fuck?” She grabbed his hair. “We’re kissing, and you bring up shit like that. Do you hear me asking about your scorecard? I’ve had plenty of men, just none I never, you know—”

  A stupid grin stretched his lips as he pressed them against hers. He slid his hands around her firm waist and tugged her close. A delirious swell of pride hit him. He would be the first to show her true pleasure. To bring her to blissful oblivion. He liked that idea. A low, possessive growl rumbled in his throat. All this time he’d been torturing himself with images of her with other men, but it made no difference. He would be her first in pleasure.

  He shouldn’t be this happy about it.

  In his fantasies, she’d been the one who’d taken charge. She’d walk into his room dressed in lacey lingerie and then cuff him. She’d climb on top and use his body, and all he could do was submit because she was the one who came to him. She wanted him, not just the other way around.

  But he liked this more.

  With mouths entwined, and fingers roaming each other’s hot, slick skin, Joe shifted Liza back toward the steps of the pool. He lifted her to sit on the ledge, spread her legs, and fit between them.

  The water had turned her crop top transparent. Two dark nipples touched the surface of the white fabric. He lowered his mouth, took one in, and sucked. She arched into him with a muttered curse that left her squirming.

  Satisfying.

  Another smile stretched his lips. He moved his attention to the other side, suckling and paying homage to her perfection. She was so responsive, so ready, and so long overdue. Her legs tightened around his waist. Cold air brushed their skin, but he ignored it. Nothing would get him out of this pool, or off this roof. Not unless it was with Liza in his arms.

  She speared his hair with her fingers and held him steadfast to her chest, but he resisted. He moved down her stomach, licking, tasting, getting bolder with every moan and whimper she made. He swirled his tongue around her belly button, then kissed lower—to the top of her soaked white panties where he kissed her mound, reveling in the high-pitched mewls she made, the writhing, the tightening of her thighs around his head. And when she pulled his hair sharply on a reflex of rapture, he tugged aside her panties and worked her slick center with his tongue. He gave her pleasure until she crumbled. Until he felt her release against his lips. Until she shouted his name to the star-filled sky.

  Breathing hard, she collapsed back against the cold tiles. “Holy Jesus Jehosefu-uck Christ. I can’t believe I ever thought you felt no lust.”

  He should probably have said something witty, something she would remember until her dying days, but all he could do was push himself out of the water, and climb on top of her.

  “I’m not done,” he said, and fitted himself between her legs.

  Awe shined back at him, and it was too much. Unreal. A dream. An echo of some unnamed emotion beat in his chest. A voice. An oath. A code.

  “...eventually you’ll bruise the people closest to you.”

  He shook his head with a jerk.

  No. He’d been waiting his whole damned life for this. Don’t think about your father. Don’t think about your job. Not now. Sweet, fucking hell, not now.

  Two fingers smoothed the groove in his brow, and for a beat, she contemplated his anguish, seeing right through him. Then he buried his face in her neck. Inhaled her. Groaned. She reached down and lifted his shirt. The moment she touched his skin, there was no more doubt. There was only her.

  “Undo my belt,” he rasped.

  She fumbled with the fastening. He tugged her panties down. All the way off.

  She was a goddess. Built from divinity. What had she said? Genetically modified perfection. And he was going to appreciate every inch.

  The belt unbuckled with a metallic tinkle. She wrapped her fingers around his erection, tightened her grip, and stroked. “You like this?”

  Christ. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Sensation coursed through him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he murmured, still not believing. “After all these years.”

  “I can’t believe you’re my mate.”

  He kissed her neck and drove into her hand. “What?”

  “Nothing.” She stroked. “I’ll tell you later.”

  He drew back to stare at her flushed face. Glazed eyes focused on him. She tried to distract him with her touch, but his oath screamed at him.

  Honesty, integrity, fidelity.

  Why couldn’t she tell him now?

  “Liza, what did you mean by mate?”

  All the way back, he tugged his pants up and sat on his haunches. A dark look ghosted her face, and her wall of defense slammed up like a tangible thing.

  “It’s not a bad thing,” she groused. “It’s a good thing.”

  “So explain it.”

  “Each of us is linked to one person who embodies our sin’s opposing virtue. This person balances the sin in our system.” She displayed her yin-yang inner wrist tattoo. “The m
ore I’m around lust, the more I get out of balance. This tattoo shifts to show how much sin is in my system. If I’m out of balance, I can black out and go all berserker rage against anyone I sense lust from. But now that our bond has triggered, now that I know it’s you, of all people, I don’t have to worry again.”

  “Me? Of all people?” Talk about a bucket of cold water. Goddamn. He got up and squelched to where he’d thrown his jacket and holster. Her words replayed in his head. He may have spent his life pining after her, but she’d clearly never felt the same. The only reason she was with him was because he embodied her sin’s opposing virtue. “So I’m what, some kind of lottery winner. I’m the one you get?”

  Their hearts had nothing to do with it?

  “Joe.” She scrambled to her feet and jogged after him.

  “I refuse to be your consolation prize, Liza.”

  “But you’re not! You’re the opposite.”

  He rounded on her. “You just said ‘you of all people’ meaning you had others lined up, meaning, I was the last person you expected to fit this role. Admit it, I was never your first choice. I’m just the one you get.”

  “Okay, I admit it was a surprise.” She reached for him.

  He shook her off. Fuck this shit.

  Turned out her family was right all along. She didn’t pick him on her own. He was stupid to think he ever stood a chance of being seen. She might never love him, only the relief he brought. And maybe that wasn’t good enough for him.

  Joe went straight down the elevator to the garage. His shredded heart and battered mind couldn’t take it anymore. The reality of Liza Lazarus was nothing like the fantasy that had fueled his soul for most of his life, and he couldn’t quite work out if that was a good thing, or not.

  The Lazarus House garage was a study in performance luxury. From slick custom-made cars, to muscle motorbikes and dark-tinted vehicles. His boring sedan stood out with two dings on the side, a scratch on the fender, and peeling paint on the roof from too many days sitting in the sun with no protection. Parker leaned casually against the hood, tracking Joe’s movements across the floor.

  Joe kept his squelching strides long and sure. He gripped his dry jacket in one hand, and his holster in the other. He stopped before Parker, again hating that he had to look up. Joe was a tall man, but the Lazarus family was taller. Now he knew why. They were created in a lab.

  He laughed at the irony. He’d spent his life trying to be better than beings created in a goddamned lab. His father, he understood. But these guys?

  Parker’s eyes narrowed at Joe’s burst of humor.

  “What?” Joe demanded.

  When Parker didn’t answer, Joe shook his head and unlocked the car. He didn’t give a shit what that cocksucker thought anymore. Hell, he wondered if he ever had. Joe opened the car door, but a big hand slammed it shut.

  Oh no, he fucking didn’t.

  Blood boiled in Joe’s veins, coursing around, kicking up a storm. He tensed. And then turned to meet Parker’s golden, smug stare.

  The man wore a tight black muscle shirt and slouch jeans that probably cost more than Joe’s car. With long hair hastily pulled back at his nape, day-old scruff that, for once, didn’t seem manicured from an in-house barber. A red blistering welt covered one side of his face.

  Shit. Parker was disheveled.

  Joe’s lips quirked. He gestured at Parker’s wound. It looked like how Liza had left some Faithful. “Disagreed with your sister?”

  Another squint of Parker’s eyes. Joe could practically hear his thoughts calculating: How much does he know?

  Enough. Joe knew enough.

  Parker leaned forward with menace. He opened his mouth, but Joe spoke first.

  “Save me a repeat of the speech you gave me twenty years ago, Parker. I don’t give a shit what you think. We’re not kids anymore. What’s between your sister and me is just that—between us.”

  A low animalistic snarl ripped out of Parker.

  Instead of returning Parker’s anger, Joe was only tired. This man had no reason to be shitty. Joe had done nothing to him except ignore his warning to stay away from his sister.

  And there it was. Like a lightning bolt of clarity.

  “You’re Pride, and you can’t stand the fact that you’re not right about something.” Joe laughed harshly. “I mean, you fucked up, right? You didn’t want me near your sister and, as it turns out, I’m the only one she can be near. Liza hasn’t been lonely all these years because of the sin she senses, it’s been because of you and your arrogance. If you hadn’t warned me off, I would have made a move a long time ago. So from where I’m standing, it should have been me warning you away from her.” It was as though the words stoked a long-dormant fire in Joe. Vehemence rocked to the surface. His fists clenched as he glared at Parker. “You ruined everything.”

  Parker’s violence dissipated, and what replaced his demeanor was more alarming: calm. It turned the man into something so deathly quiet that Joe felt like Aesop’s mouse who’d scurried over the sleeping lion’s outstretched paw... only to be caught. His life now hung in the balance, dangling over sharp teeth and a gaping chasm, at the mercy of the lion’s whim.

  Amused eyes leveled on him as Parker dusted imaginary flecks from Joe’s wet shoulders and said, “You think because you’re with the Feds that you’re untouchable?”

  “Fuck off.”

  Parker stepped back. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. He prowled away with the cocky sureness of the lion walking away from a mouse.

  Joe got in his car and drove out. He didn’t stop until he got to the precinct. It was either go there, or go home to his empty apartment, and he wasn’t ready to face those ghosts.

  He used a locker room shower to clean himself. He changed into a spare suit he kept in his locker, and then sat at his desk and wrote everything he knew about the Lazarus family and the Deadly Seven.

  There was one part of that fable most people forgot. The lion ended up owing his life to the mouse. Parker should take care who he pisses off.

  17

  Liza checked her cell for the tenth time since waking. No message from Joe. After he’d left her at the rooftop pool, she’d called and called, but hit voice mail every single time.

  This morning, she’d completed her workout, another stress test with Parker, jogged five miles, and then came back to her room and tried him again. Nothing.

  Lying on her unmade bed, she daydreamed. For her, yesterday had been a wondrous revelation. She could still feel the touch of his lips down her spine, on her stomach, lower... a pleasant shiver ran through her and she pressed her thighs together with a lazy smile. He was incredible. My Joe.

  The very thought of his name sent butterflies zipping in her lower belly. Since he’d left, a nagging in her soul had ruptured. She longed to be with him again, but the betrayal in his eyes last night had been so deep. He truly believed she would never have picked him if given the opportunity.

  But maybe she had.

  Maybe the way she felt for him factored into it.

  She glanced at the tattered baseball on her nightstand, an ever-present reminder of their shared life. Picking it up, she realized her need for their bond had been very different from his. Running her thumb over the signatures, she realized her pleas for help had been nothing but childish defiance and flexing her newborn independence. The unfairness of having to pick up Wyatt’s share of the chores when he’d left for seven years of training, the trapped feeling when Mary wouldn’t allow her to go to a party, or an argument she’d had with Flint about the way she dressed. She’d run to Joe’s house and used Codename: Baseball to justify her anguish. Seemed so childish now.

  But Joe...

  She rubbed her thumb over his signatures.

  He’d used the ball for very different reasons. He’d never once tried to get out of responsibilities. Instead, he’d cashed in Codename: Baseball for comfort after having his eye swollen shut by a fist from his father, or needing s
omeone to sit with him at Emergency for X-rays, or simply just to sit with him when he received no affection from his family on his birthday. Liza had filled a hole in his life. He’d needed her like he’d not needed anyone else.

  She longed to go back to that simple time. To have nothing between them but clear, undiluted love. Because that’s what it was back then, she realized. Love. Only, she’d been too young to comprehend.

  She sat up.

  He wasn’t some second choice; he was the first. Always had been.

  Putting the baseball down, Liza took up her cell and tried calling Joe.

  No answer.

  But a text came through. Family meeting in her parents’ apartment for breakfast. That could only mean one thing. Daisy was up and talking.

  “Fuck it,” she growled and got out of bed.

  There were more pressing things to worry about than Joe’s rejection. The sister who’d spent her life working for the enemy was downstairs.

  Liza showered, dressed, and gathered spare clothing for Daisy. She ventured down to her parents’ floor. Mary sat with Daisy on a sectional in the living area. They weren’t alone. Tony, Griffin, and Parker also sat pouring over some of Evan’s sketches from his psychic dreams. The artist himself was conspicuously absent.

  She put her keys on the bench in the kitchen, smiled at her father cooking bacon and eggs, and then joined the rest of her family. Tony, Griffin, and Parker were on one side of the couch. Mary and Daisy on the other. She handed Daisy the small pile of clothes.

  “I thought you’d want something to wear other than sweats.”

  Daisy’s violet gaze sparked with an emotion that gave Liza a glimpse into her old self. Then it was gone. Daisy took the pile of clothes with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but she hugged the clothes in her lap as though they were a blanket that would protect her from the ghosts of her past, sitting and staring at her from across the couch.

  “Did Evan have another dream?” Liza asked, eyeing the rough charcoal sketches on the table. She’d seen the one with Daisy in it earlier, but they not shown Daisy.