Страница 276 из 349
He raises a brow, looking down his nose at me like I’ve done to him a million times over.
“I’m not lying. I agreed this was the best option for Luther, and I don’t want to leave until it’s done.”
“Too bad.” His jaw hardens. “You’ll be on the jet at sunup.”
His refusal acts like a match to a mountain of kindling. The tingle I’d been consumed with turns to vibrations. Heart palpitations. I’m sick of him throwing his weight around. It’s fucking exhausting.
“No, I won’t.” I straighten my shoulders, giving him an up-close-and-personal view of my defiance. There’s so much tightly coiled fury in his features and all it does is fuel me, making me buzz. “I’m not going anywhere until this is over. Not unless you plan on drugging me again.”
“You’ll do exactly what I want, when I want. Now get your drunk ass to bed.”
My blood boils. I try to bottle it, to keep it deep down inside, but the spite bursts from me. “Yours or mine?”
His brows shoot skyward. I’m sure mine do the same.
It’s the alcohol talking. The liquor puts words in my mouth. Emotions in my veins. And despite the danger, the temporary shock written all over his face is worth it.
“Cute.” He eyes me, reading me, the glaze of intoxication bearing down like a threat. “Real fucking cute.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, making my lips burn under the attention. “You’re playing with fire. If I were you, I wouldn’t push boundaries when you don’t know what’s on the other side.”
“What are you going to do? Take a page out of your father’s book?”
His nostrils flare and his hand shoots up, grasping my throat.
History repeats itself. The feral stare. The blinding fury. And yet again, that hold is gentle. Non-threatening.
“Who’s to say I won’t? Like father, like son, right?” His breaths come in heaves, his chest rising and falling with the aggression. “You don’t understand me, little fox. We both know I could destroy you.”
I’ve pushed too far. I’ve made a mistake. I know this. I know it just as well as I know day follows night. And still, I want more.
It’s as if self-preservation no longer exists. Common sense has evaporated.
“You could, but you won’t.” I raise my chin in defiance. “I don’t know if you wish you were more like your father, or if you’re glad you’re not. But it’s clear you’re hurt by what he’s done. I didn’t notice it while he was here because your poker face is crazy-brilliant. But I noticed after. I saw your pain. I still see it now.”
His aggression falters. His eyes flare with sorrow before quickly falling back under the shroud of anger.
“Leave. Get out of my fucking room, and don’t disturb me again.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t allow me the escape he demands.
He confuses me, telling my head one thing while my churning insides a
Neither reaction makes sense.
“I don’t want to leave,” I admit. “I want to see this through.”
I’m not sure if I’m still talking about his father. About those women. About victory for the greater good.
“It isn’t safe.” He doesn’t break our gaze, not even when his expression falls, exposing a mass of regret. He releases his hold on my neck, his fingers grazing my shoulder, my hip, for an instant of pure friction.
It’s the liquor.
The buzz.
I can’t help it. My body reacts without my consent.
Before I can think about the consequences, my hand rises to his face, my touch brushing the light stubble along his jaw.
He flinches, but doesn’t pull away. He remains close, one hand pressed against the door, one foot between mine.
“You’re drunk.” He snatches my wrist, holding it in place. “You’ll regret this in the morning.”
“I already regret it now. That doesn’t mean I can stop.” I raise my other hand, gliding my fingers gently along the softness of his cheekbone, all the way down to the side of his mouth.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But it’s clear something is loco-fucking-bat-shit in this head of mine because this devil of a man seems entirely redeemable.
I see the turmoil in his eyes, the battle waging war beneath his impenetrable exterior. I feel his conflict. His agony. I understand all the good he’s tried to do through an entirely bad situation.
“Who are you?” I whisper.
“You know who I am.” His grip tightens. “Don’t let the alcohol cloud your judgment.”
He’s right. I do know. And the alcohol is.
I know both facts as if they’re tattooed across my chest, and yet my heart overrules them, twisting and turning in the need for more.
More insight.
More co
More sizzle.
“How do you live like this? How do you do what you do?” I sound like Dr. Seuss, the words rolling off my tongue with the tiniest of slurs. “Explain it to me.”
“Tomorrow.”
“No.” I drag my thumb along the exquisite softness of his lower lip. “Now.”
“Niss.” My nickname is a warning. “I’ve had more to drink than you. I’m not playing games when I say my hesitation won’t last forever.”
Heat takes over my stomach and descends, pooling in a place that should be entirely off-limits to this man’s effect.
I struggle against my body’s reaction. I mentally fight for stability. But the battle is too hard. Everything is too hard when I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. More stark and brutal and gorgeous.
My heart pounds behind my sternum, the beat carrying heavily to my ears. It’s intuition and madness. Passion and impulse. Insanity and picture-perfect clarity.
I glide my hand over his chin, down to his neck to grasp his throat. My hold is like his has always been. Gentle. Soft. The only difference is mine doesn’t elicit a reaction.
I grip tighter, harder, my fingers becoming a vise with each passing second, until I finally get what I want—a deep swallow beneath my palm.
He’s not unaffected by me.
Whatever I’m feeling, he feels it, too.
“You don’t want to do this.” His words haunt me, the warning a kindness.
“Joh
He grins, the expression subtle, yet mocking. “Since when does Joh
“You’ve got expensive taste.” I can barely hear my own voice. It’s breathy. A whisper.
“Exquisite.” He releases my wrist. His hand moves to the sensitive skin below my ear, his thumb trailing back and forth along my carotid. “I have exquisite taste, Nissa.”
My nerves catch on fire, sizzling, blazing.
“Are you trying to make yourself believe I’m a good guy?” He leans into me, hip to hip, his thigh between my thighs. “Do you want me to pretend, too?”
Everything is hard. His arms. His chest. His cock.
The thick length of his erection presses into my abdomen, making it difficult to breathe. My nipples bead. Every inch of my skin tingles. A flicker of fireworks skims along my senses.
“I don’t know.” I can already predict the aftermath. The mistake I’m about to make will haunt me forever, yet in this moment I’m willing to pay the price.
I can’t deny myself.
I lean in, my mouth a breath away from his. A mere gasp. Then I steal the gentlest touch of co
It’s the most delicate dance of pleasure. His lips are kind, placating, all the gentleness at odds with his ferocity.
I taste the scotch on his tongue. I drown in the flavor.
A hazardous thrill shoots through me. The temptation sinks into my marrow.