by Jen Davis
She closed her eyes long enough to moan softly.
“You like it, huh?” He rubbed roughly over her pussy, and her breath shuddered. She looked like a fucking goddess with her eyes glazed and mouth slightly open in pleasure.
If he didn’t get inside her soon, he was going to come right here in front of the mini-fridge and microwave.
He tore at the button of her jeans, and she scrambled to help him get her undressed. He needed her too much to have any finesse.
Thank God, she seemed every bit as hungry for him.
She lunged toward him, their mouths crashing together, tongues sliding over each other in frantic motion. They’d kissed dozens of times in the three months they’d been together, but this was different. This kiss consumed him.
His arms around her waist pulled her closer; the feel of her skin against his electrified him. It was everything, and still not enough. Fueled by adrenaline and need, he lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around him. Their mouths still locked together, he carried her the short distance to the bed and lowered her body to the soft petals he’d scattered with care.
The last thing he wanted to do was to pull back, but he hadn’t seen her yet. Not really. And goddamn, she was a revelation.
Her porcelain skin…her tight peach nipples…and the smooth, perfect surface of bare skin between her legs. His mouth watered.
“Kane,” she whispered. “Please.”
He wanted to do everything. Touch her everywhere. He didn’t even know where to begin.
She rubbed her thighs together restlessly.
Never mind. He knew exactly where to begin.
“You’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely. Climbing onto the bed, he pulled those perfect, pale thighs apart and zeroed in straight to the place where he wanted to be the most.
She tried to bring her knees together, but he wouldn’t be denied. He pulled them apart again and brought his mouth to the heart of her sex. The scent of her arousal intoxicated him. He flattened his tongue and swept it up between her glistening pink lips.
She squirmed beneath him, but he slid his arms under her thighs and clamped his hands over her hips to keep her still. And open to him.
He had to taste more of her. He licked over her slit again. And again. Each time, he drove his tongue deeper. Her taste consumed him as she grew wetter against his mouth. One of his hands released her hip to tease at her opening.
Mandy lifted her hips in a wordless plea, and he gave her what she wanted. He plunged his middle finger inside of her as his tongue swirled her clit.
She moaned, and it only pushed him harder. A second finger joined the first, and as he fucked her with his hand, she met every thrust with a swivel of her hips. He replaced his tongue with the flat of his thumb and let her ride out her own pleasure until he felt her walls pulsing beneath his hand.
Heart pounding, he grabbed one of the foil packets he’d stocked on the nightstand and ripped it open. He rolled on the condom and was inside her so fast, her pussy was still contracting around him. “Fuck,” he gritted out. Nothing had ever felt so good.
He tried to move slowly. He really did, but she was so wet and hot, and her hands gripped his ass, urging him to drive into her faster. Harder.
When the orgasm finally crashed over him, an electric current of pleasure shot through his body. He went rigid. His toes fucking curled, and it was the most singularly perfect moment of his entire life.
Mandy released the hold she had on his cheeks, and he rolled to his back, keeping her in the cage of his arms.
Only then did his actions catch up with him. He’d intended to take things slowly. To take her virginity gently and with care. He was the worst kind of asshole.
He ran his hand over her beautiful red hair. “Are you okay? Was I too rough?”
She sniffed.
Shit. Was she crying?
She sniffed again, and it turned into a giggle.
Wait. Was she—“Are you laughing?”
Her giggles gave way to full-on laughter.
He sat up. “Are you seriously laughing at me right now?”
“No.” She stopped laughing, but a wide smile still lit her face as she faced him. “I’m laughing because I’m happy.” Her soft, smooth hand caressed his cheek. “I’m laughing because this was perfect. You are perfect.”
She leaned toward him, touching her forehead to his. “I’m happy, Kane. And I love you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kane
Mandy’s condo was part of a five-story building on the very edge of downtown. The exterior was rust colored on the bottom floor, but the color yielded to a shade more like sand above the second level. At least half of the façade was glass, though.
Mandy always did like a sunny day. She probably kept the shades open all the time.
How many times had he looked at her to find her eyes closed, head tilted back, absorbing the sunlight? But those images were from another life. Another version of her, which had probably been dead for years, if it had ever really existed in the first place.
He shut down the memories of a fall afternoon at the corn maze where they’d intentionally gotten lost for hours. The Mandy with the bright eyes and open heart wasn’t the one who had summoned him here.
The doorman shot him an appraising look, and Kane steeled himself for an argument. Even a child could see he didn’t belong in a place like this.
“Mr. Hale?” the man asked smoothly, then opened the door without waiting for an answer.
He blinked, standing frozen for a moment before stepping over the threshold. The buttoned-up older man escorted him to the elevator and waved an electronic keycard over a sensor at the elevator. The doors parted immediately.
“Fourth floor,” the doorman said solemnly. “Second door to your right, sir.”
What the hell? Was he supposed to tip this guy? His experience with doormen was admittedly limited.
When the man gestured him into the lift with a blank expression on his face, he took it as an answer and stepped inside. As the doors closed in front of him, the shiny metal reflected his image back to him. Strands of his dark hair had escaped his low ponytail and fell into his face. His beard was getting long, hanging at least an inch or two below his chin; it was scraggly, in no way shaped, and it did nothing to mask the shiny scar bisecting his left cheek.
He diverted his eyes, knowing exactly what others would see. Shitkickers on his feet, jeans, and T-shirt covered by an unbuttoned heavy flannel, the sleeves rolled to his elbow to reveal a portion of the tattoos climbing both arms.
Mandy had obviously warned the doorman, or the poor old bastard would have probably had a heart attack when he approached the building. It was a reaction he was used to, at least among civilized folks.
A dainty chime sounded when he reached Mandy’s floor. The doors opened soundlessly to reveal a relatively short hallway with hardwood floors. There were only three doors on either side. Smooth beige walls filled the space between them.
The pound of his pulse picked up as he covered the short distance to Mandy’s space. Ignoring the small, gold knocker, he rapped his knuckles against the wood.
A hundred times he’d fantasized about being here, his imagination filling in the blanks of her life. After today, he’d never have to wonder what her private space was like. When he closed his eyes and his traitorous mind conjured her drifting to sleep on the sofa or the satisfied smile she made with the first sip of her morning coffee, he’d picture her in this place, in her real home. Not the hazy construct his mind had cobbled together.
His breathing stopped when she opened the door. There was no sign of the sharp business clothes she normally wore. No high heels or closed expression. Instead, she was the Mandy of his past. Soft T-shirt and jeans. Bare face. Bare feet.
She reached out, grabbed his hand, and pulled him inside.
From the corner of his eye, he noted an immaculate living space in shades of cream with a lot of glass, but his curiosity about her h
ome paled with Mandy right in front of him.
The door swung shut behind him with a gentle snick, and before he knew it, he was sitting on the loveseat, Mandy only inches away. His hand was still in hers.
He was in Bizzaro World. “What am I doing here?” A hundred scenarios shuffled through his head. Had Mike taken a turn? Was something happening with the company? Did she—miss him?
Her eyes flicked away from his face to stare at their joined hands. She didn’t let go. “You need to watch your back. Whatever your club is doing right now, it’s made you a target.”
The club? The Skulls had nothing to do with her; she’d made it clear a long time ago it was how she wanted it. He tugged his hand away and immediately wished he hadn’t. “What do you know about my club?”
Her gaze lingered a moment on her empty hand, then clenched her fingers into a fist. Her green eyes sharpened when they locked with his. “I know you’re turning into drug dealers.” Her nose wrinkled.
Shame tickled his gut, as he knew it would, but he hardened himself against it. What business was it of hers? She had all the money she’d ever need. She never had to worry about making her rent. Her father was the mayor for fuck’s sake.
The surge of righteous anger was almost enough for him to ignore he had wanted nothing to do with the plan to move in on Sucre’s turf in the first place. “Your point?” he ground out.
If she noticed his ire, she didn’t let on. “Do you know a guy named Bennett?”
He stilled. “David Bennett?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I only heard his last name.”
“Blond guy? Always has on a Christian Soldiers cut?”
Mandy waved her hand dismissively. “I didn’t see him. But listen, whoever this guy is, he’s gunning for you.”
There was no scenario he could imagine where David Bennett should be in Mandy’s orbit.
“He is working with my father.” She shuddered and reached for a half-filled wine glass on the glass coffee table in front of them. The burgundy liquid disappeared in two gulps. “I heard them talking at the house today.”
Her knuckles turned white as she squeezed the stem of the glass. Gently, he pried it from her hand and set it on the table.
She took a deep breath. “He said a bunch of racist shit, but the bottom line is Bennett wants his club to take over for Sucre de la Cruz.”
No surprise there, but… “What do his lowlife ambitions have to do with your father?”
Swiping the glass from the table, she stood and carried it to the adjoining open concept kitchen area where a wine bottle sat on a shiny dark countertop. She poured almost to the brim, then promptly drained half of it into her mouth. “Bennett offered my dad a percentage to help clear the way for him.”
His stomach clenched. “Your father said yes.”
Mandy pursed her lips. “I don’t know why I’m surprised, but yeah. He didn’t say what he was planning, but whatever it is will happen in the next few days.” Draining the rest of her glass, she left it on the counter and returned to her spot on the loveseat. “I guess I’m not helping very much.”
He hated the tightness around her eyes, the strain in her voice. His protective instincts now in the driver’s seat, he pushed his concerns about her father’s threat to the back of his mind. “You are. At least I know we need to be on guard.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, rubbing at her right temple. “My family has brought you nothing but grief.”
Even though her words were pretty damn close to the truth, he couldn’t let them stand unchallenged. “It wasn’t all bad.” The memories rose, flooding him with images of her flushed cheeks as she rode him and her lips swollen from his kisses. Her laughter still echoed in his ears; the silky softness of her bare skin tingled on his fingertips. No matter how many years passed, it was all still there, right beneath the surface.
Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip. There was nothing hard in her expression, only a softness he hadn’t seen in years. It was the same look she’d given him when he used to tell her about how he’d grown up. None of the earth-shattering stuff. Just the uncelebrated birthdays or the TV dinners he had to cook himself. Things like that. He’d tried to tell her it wasn’t so bad. He liked frozen nuggets fine. But it was never fine with her. She’d tell him how she loved him and how he deserved better, and somehow, she was the one who hurt over things he chalked up to reality.
It always ended with him kissing her, trying to replace her sadness with something else. Showing her he was happy and whole in her arms. Watching the sorrow in her eyes give way to pleasure untangled knots inside him he’d never realized were there.
He wanted to do it now. He needed to.
Honestly, he’d never stopped. She’d been the only force in the world capable of keeping them apart. Anything else was a lie he told himself so he could live with her decision.
Without even thinking, he reached out and tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull back.
He palmed the back of her head right where it met her neck and pulled her toward him at the same time he leaned toward her. Making his movements slow and deliberate, he gave her every opportunity to stop him. Her absolute stillness told him everything he needed to know. He kept his eyes locked with hers until the moment their lips touched, then his lids squeezed shut, and his other senses took over.
Traces of wine teased him as his mouth moved over hers, and he breathed in her familiar scent, the lavender from her favorite soap. The one from Before. It was like coming home.
His left hand glided up her arm, and she shuddered beneath him. Then she wrested control of the kiss, taking it deeper. The sharp bite of the zinfandel bloomed stronger as he slid his tongue against hers.
Crushing Mandy against him, his heart sang with the rightness of having her in his arms again. It was as if the past thirteen years had never happened. All those times he’d tried to convince himself it hadn’t been as good as he remembered, there had been a reason he hadn’t been able to let go.
Nothing had changed in all these years.
She was everything. The sun in the sky. The air he breathed.
Her arms were around his neck, and she moaned softly against him. Every cell in his body screamed to feel her skin-to-skin—to strip her bare and plunge his aching hard-on into her wet warmth.
It could be like it was. She could be mine again. We could go back and get it right this time.
Only, he had no idea where it had gone wrong before.
Digging deep for every drop of self-control he had, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “You’re killing me, Mandy.”
She choked back a small sob, sending him on instant alert. He pulled back to see her face, which she immediately buried in her hands.
“What’s wrong?” His heart raced. “Did I—”
Her hands dropped to her lap, revealing green eyes shining a little too bright. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I—nobody’s called me that in a really long time.”
He doubted it was the name so much as the possibility she was drowning as much as he was right now, though he could be wrong. She’d never stopped being Mandy in his mind, but he couldn’t remember the last time he said it to her face.
A lock of hair fell over her left eye, and he itched to reach out and smooth it back again. He stifled the urge, rubbing at his beard instead. The culprit behind the now scraped, tender skin around her mouth, a telltale redness left in its wake. She’d always hated beards. He had a sudden, overwhelming urge to shave.
What the hell was wrong with him? Nothing had changed. She was still the woman who broke his heart, and he still had no idea why. He took a deep breath. “I was going to buy you a ring. The day it happened. The day you left.”
She swallowed, then wrapped her arms around herself.
“Scott offered me a ride to the mall, but he took me to the apartment building instead. It was a set-up, my brother and Sucre changing the
balance of power.” He scoffed. “I see it now, but back then, I had no idea. I put myself in front of a knife to save Scott. I almost died. Then you damn-near finished the job when you left me broken in my hospital bed.”
“I’m sorry.” She curled into herself, getting smaller before his eyes.
He didn’t like it. His Mandy was tough as nails. She could look a tiger in the eye without blinking. “Don’t be sorry,” he said gruffly. “Tell me what happened. I deserve the truth.”
“You do.” She straightened.
Finally. He was getting an answer to the question haunting him for more than a decade.
A beat of silence. “I did it to save you.”
He stopped breathing.
To save him? Of all the possible explanations he’d considered over the years, that had never been one of them.
“Someone threatened to have you arrested for killing those people in the fire. It was a dirty cop; he blackmailed my father, knowing about the connection between you and me.”
He heard the words she was saying, but they didn’t make sense. “I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t even know about the fire until after you left me.”
Releasing her death grip on her arms, she sagged against the back of the loveseat. “I never thought you did it. But seeing you there was a win-win for the cop. Either he got the glory of making a major arrest, or he could take early retirement with my father’s money.”
“What reason could I have for setting a fire? It takes more than one cop’s word to put someone away.” He pushed off the seat and started pacing the floor. None of this made sense.
Her gaze tracked him as he walked from one side of the room to the other. “My father said it benefited your family. Something about the drug trade. I didn’t know it then, but later, I figured out it was the night Sucre de la Cruz came into power. What I don’t understand is what it had to do with the Skulls.”
He put one foot in front of the other. Moving helped him think. “It never made sense to me either.” Why they’d helped Sucre take over. He’d asked his brother—even his father once—but they’d only say he was better off leaving it alone. It was need-to-know information, and he didn’t need to know it. Who cares if it ruined his fucking life? Of course, now it was as plain as the nose on his face.