It took all of five seconds to realize he might have been lying when he said she wasn’t his type. He had gone a long time without sex and right now female was pretty much his type. Young female, even better—or in this case, worse. A female that smelled soapy clean and faintly floral and he was screwed.
He kept to his side of the bed, rigid as a slat of board, inhaling deep even breaths as he battled for self-control. He’d mastered the art of self-control in prison . . . for keeping his composure when everyone else went bat-shit crazy around him. This shouldn’t be so hard. He shouldn’t be so hard.
He wouldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t that guy. He wouldn’t become that thing she was so afraid of. He wouldn’t become one of them outside this room. He’d spent years fighting to stay human inside a cage and wouldn’t turn into an animal now that he was on the outside. For however long he had until he was caught—and he fully expected that to happen eventually—he would cling to his code.
The smell of sizzling meat drifted to his nose, mingling with her floral scent. Apparently they were cooking. Just like it was an ordinary day with the president’s daughter captive in the next room. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, fixing on Grace’s features as she lay beside him.
He had to admit there was something about First Daughter Grace Reeves. Her big brown eyes appeared soft and intelligent. Even with fear lurking in the honeyed depths, those eyes were sharp, quick. Fear didn’t slow down the wheels turning in her head. She saw too much. She saw he was different from the rest of them. Granted, maybe he wanted her to see that. Maybe he needed her to. And not for her sake, but for his. He had to believe he was not like them. If prison hadn’t made him into one of them, it wouldn’t happen now. One female wasn’t going to snap his self-control and break loose a part of him that he had spent his whole life battling.
He wasn’t like his addict mother. He wasn’t like his deadbeat dad, who had floated in and out of his life, showing up to sleep with his mom, steal her drug money, and then take off again—only to repeat the cycle six months later. He wasn’t weak like Zane either.
Grace shifted. Her soft sigh filled up the small space between them.
Thankfully, it was dark. Thankfully, he hadn’t seen her naked. Not that it stopped him from imagining the small curvy body he had earlier assessed at a glance.
He jammed his eyes shut against the darkness as if that would rid of him of the thoughts. It was a struggle. She had a body that reminded him of a pinup girl from the forties. His grandfather had one of those vintage posters in his shed. Reid spent hours gazing at it as his grandfather worked on his old truck. His adolescent self had been mesmerized by the girl in the tiny sailor suit, her juicy, gartered thighs on display, all that creamy skin as tempting as a ripe peach in the summer, begging for the bite of his teeth. She shifted again, the mattress squeaking slightly. “You should try to sleep,” he said, his voice coming out much too thick.
“What’s going to happen to me?”
“I’ll try to get you out of this.”
“You said you would keep me safe,” she accused.
He sighed and dropped his arm over his forehead, cutting off his vision, reducing his world to darkness. Yeah, he’d made that promise. Stupid. It was a promise he had no right to make. Sullivan was behind this, and he knew firsthand the power that SOB wielded. Not to mention he wanted his pound of flesh and intended to take it out of Grace Reeves. Sullivan was a sociopath. He wouldn’t back down. “You’re in a fine mess here, Grace Reeves.”
“So you lied to me?” She scooted another half inch away, as if repelled by the possibility.
“I’ll do my best, but I don’t have any pull here. I’m not really one of them. Not anymore . . .”
“What does that even mean? You’re here with them.”
She would look at it that way. After all, the others had trusted him enough to let him “have” her. He’d told her that himself. Distrust crept back into the set of her shoulders. She thought he was lying. Or just blowing smoke. Either way, it was probably good for her overall chances of survival. As long as she was afraid of him, she wouldn’t drop her guard.
He lifted his arm from his forehead as she rolled onto her back and turned her face toward him. “Can you help me?” she asked, her voice stronger, imploring him. “Can you get me out of here? Maybe when they all fall asleep we can sneak out?”
Of course she would ask him that. She wasn’t stupid. He’d promised to keep her safe. But if he did that for her, his credibility would be shot to shit with these guys. He’d never get close enough to Sullivan then, and doing that—getting to the bastard, making him pay—was the only thing driving him. It was the only thing that mattered.
Her voice softened into something that reminded him of the whipped cream his grandmother used to dollop on top of pie. It was one of those rare sweet memories. “I . . . I can make it worth your while.”
“That so?”
“Yes. Get me out of here, and I’ll see that you’re rewarded.”
His mind took a dive into the gutter, imagining a reward he was positive she hadn’t intended when she made the offer. No, she was probably thinking money or a pass from prosecution. She didn’t know that he was serving a life sentence. There was no pass from that.
“Get some sleep,” he said gruffly.
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She wanted him to guarantee her freedom. He felt her rattled sigh as much as he heard it. He’d disappointed her, and that made something twist inside him. He hated that she was here. He hated that she was afraid and that he couldn’t help her.
But that was just the way it had to be.
He settled his weight into the bed and closed his eyes. He would think better after a night’s sleep. Maybe then he could wade through the complicated web of saving her while simultaneously bringing down Sullivan. Moments ticked by. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. For eleven years he had slept alone, and now there was a woman next to him in a bed. A warm-bodied woman with curves and breasts that would overflow in his hands. A groan built up in his chest. This was going to be a very long night.
Suddenly, the door burst open and light flooded the room. Christ. He jackhammered upright, yanking her partially beneath him and glaring at the unwanted arrivals. He was half expecting it. It was the reason, after all, that he’d told her to strip off her clothes. But it didn’t curtail the rage flooding his veins.
His brother entered, bearing a plate of steaming food. Rowdy propped a shoulder on the doorjamb, munching on an ice cream sandwich, his feral gaze landing on them in the bed. She trembled underneath Reid. Convenient, he supposed. Not that he enjoyed her trembling in fear, but she needed to look traumatized.
“Get the fuck out,” Reid growled, his arms braced around Grace, shielding her while also trying to make it look like Zane and Rowdy had interrupted them. Again he was glad that he’d made her get undressed and into bed with him. If Zane didn’t think he was fucking her, he’d give her to Rowdy, no question about it.
Zane lifted the plate a bit. “Thought you might be hungry.”
“Out,” he repeated.
“Told you he wouldn’t be interested in food right now,” Rowdy chimed in, stepping closer and peering at Grace. “How was she?” he asked mildly. “Looks like she’s got a decent rack.”
Grace whimpered and burrowed deeper into the bed, still shaking. What’s worse, Rowdy’s words only made Reid all too aware of her naked breasts mashed into his chest. The twin points of her nipples burned into him. Heat clawed through him.
Zane shrugged. “Figured you might be done and ready to eat something.”
Rowdy chuckled. “After all that time in the joint, he might be more than a two-pump-chump like you, man.”
Grace shuddered violently beneath him, and he glanced down at her, hoping to reassure her somehow with a look. Then the sight of her hit him like a Mack Truck. He was seeing her close up now, with the lights on. Her dark hair fanned out all around her. Even his propped arms were resting in the silken nest.
The olive skin. Liquid brown eyes and curling lashes. The tiny mole at the corner of her left eye. She wasn’t beautiful, but there was something about her. Something as fresh and untouched and delicate as a rose after a storm. It was something that made his stomach twist into knots. She was innocent. She clearly didn’t belong in this place, with these men, with him.
He shook his head and blinked, killing the weak thoughts and letting in far more destructive ideas. “I’m not done,” he muttered to the intruders, and then all he could think about was how a girl like this would require a lot of time and attention. He’d devote long hours to her, starting with that lush mouth. The things he would do to that mouth . . .
Her eyes flared wide at his voice, his words. Apparently, he sounded convincing.
“’Course not.” Rowdy laughed roughly. “After all those years in prison, we probably won’t see you for a week. C’mon, Zane.”
He couldn’t tear his gaze off her. She stiffened under him, and he couldn’t help himself. He conducted a slow perusal, looking down her throat and shoulders. She had a smooth, unblemished complexion. His gaze feasted on all of it, watching as red splotches broke out across her olive skin. He wanted to see more.
He continued looking, taking in the top swells of her breasts pressing into his bare chest. His breath quickened, lifting his chest away for half a second before coming back down against her breasts. Again and again. He reveled in it—in the sensation of nipples he couldn’t see pebbling hard against his skin.
“Here you go, bro.” Something hit the end of the bed with a small thud, reminding him that they weren’t alone. “Don’t go making any babies. Suit up.”
The pulse in his ears rushed to a roar at the thought of that. Not about making babies . . . but sinking into the warm body under him.
Christ.
This wasn’t some willing female. He needed to get that sick thought out of his head. This wasn’t what he was. He hadn’t escaped prison to scratch an eleven-year itch with a willing woman, much less an unwilling one.
His pulse beat a tempo inside his ears. He heard the door shut as though from someplace far away. Still, he could not move. He was strung so tight, a wire on the verge of snapping, everything twisting. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he battled for control.
“They’re gone,” she whispered. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. He tracked the movement of that tongue, something molten-hot curling through him at the sight of it. The last time he’d held a female in his arms, he hadn’t known anything. He was just a kid, barely out of high school. He took fucking for granted. At twenty, he certainly hadn’t thought to absorb the fact that Monica and Gaby, the sisters who lived in his trailer park—or the occasional party hookups—would be his last taste of intimacy.
“They didn’t turn the lights off,” she added into the stretch of hovering silence.
He found his voice, shoving thoughts of how, if he had the chance, he would take his time and savor every moment of having a woman in his arms. A woman like her. “I know.”
Her eyes were russet, a brown several shades lighter than the long blue-black hair twisting all around her.
The lights were still on, and that was the problem. He could see her. Feel her. He exhaled thinly through his nose, commanding himself to roll off her. Disengage.
“Reid?”
The sound of his name jolted him. Maybe it was the gentle sound of her voice, so cultured and well-enunciated.
Or maybe it was just her saying his name.
He couldn’t do this. He shouldn’t be doing this . . . shouldn’t enjoy the feel of her so much that hot need started to gather and pull at the base of his spine. He just came from a place that demanded he feed those needs. Take. Claim. That was the order of things in prison. He couldn’t do that, though. Not with her. Not like this.
He launched himself off her, sending the box of condoms his brother left him tumbling to the floor. With a curse, he crossed the room.
Her gasp told him she was watching him walk away and not missing the fact that he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.
He flipped off the light, instantly drowning them in darkness again. For a moment he stood motionless, bowing his head, his fingers still on the switch. His cock jutted out hard and aching, hungry for action and not in agreement with his thoughts. He resisted the urge to take hold of his dick in the dark and give it a deep stroke. That wouldn’t help. It would only increase his torment, because there would be no release.
Lifting his head, he inhaled and forced nonsexy thoughts into his head, He imagined roadkill and what flesh-eating bacteria could do to a body.
“They won’t bother us again tonight,” he murmured, his voice thick.
He said the words to reassure her, but they rang almost ominously on the air. When he made his way to the bed and settled on the mattress, it was to find that she had scooted to the edge, as far away from him as possible. Smart girl. With her scent tangled around him and the memory of her skin against his, his erection showed no signs of waning.
It was going to be a long night.