Elijah kept a tight grip on the woman in his arms. She swayed against him, all soft skin and naked heat, her vivid eyes clouded with pleasure. But there was something else in her expression too, and he thought it looked like bitter disappointment.
Of course it’s disappointment, you fucking prick. She wanted to give you something and you wouldn’t let her.
But what the fuck else could he do? Marie and what had happened to her, how he’d failed her, were out of bounds. He wouldn’t ever tell anyone, a secret he would keep until he died. And if that caused Violet some disappointment, then so be it.
He just hadn’t expected that it would cause him pain too.
She turned her head away, resting her forehead against his shoulder. He could see the curve of her cheek flushed pink from the orgasm he’d given her, her lashes a small thick fan of gold against her skin.
He ached. Not just his cock, but his chest too, like someone was pressing down hard on it.
“I know there are many things you have to fight, Eli, but I’m not one of them.”
But he’d wanted to fight her, that was the problem. That’s all he’d been doing for seven fucking years, and he’d had to because how else was he going to do what he had to do? Keep fighting and trust no one, those were the lessons that working for Fitzgerald had taught him. Those were the only lessons that mattered. And he couldn’t stop now just because some lovely girl seemed to have the ability to reach right inside his chest and put her hand around his heart.
No, fuck that, it wasn’t his heart she had her hands around.
She’d wanted to take care of him, make him feel good, but he couldn’t let her in, not even a little bit. Because he had a feeling that once he did, he’d never want to let her go.
Would that be so very bad?
Elijah pushed the insidious thought away. He shouldn’t even be thinking shit like this, not when he had Jericho to meet and a plan to work out. A plan for how to protect the lovely girl in question.
He looked down at her, all soft golden spikes of hair and creamy, satin skin. The sandalwood scent he associated with her had faded over the past couple of days, and now she smelled faintly of flowers and the musky scent of sex.
Christ, he wanted to eat her alive.
He took a step back in the direction of the couch, holding her in his arms, taking her with him as he sat down so she ended up in his lap. Her head turned, her cheek against his chest, and then she stilled.
His heart was beating fast, and he was so fucking hard. Her butt was pressed to his groin, the heat of her pussy soaking through the fabric of his shorts, and suddenly he wanted to be naked, to feel her against his bare skin.
He reached for that stubborn little chin of hers and tipped her head back so he could look down into her face. She didn’t resist—which surprised him—staring back at him with a wary expression. She seemed more guarded now, as if she was hiding something, and he knew she didn’t want him to see her disappointment. Too late.
He ran the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, enjoying the warm, giving softness of it. “I know what you want,” he said after a moment. “You want to make it all better.”
“Is that so bad?” She had crossed her arms, covering her breasts in a protective gesture that annoyed him, even if he understood it.
Resisting the urge to pull her arms away, he satisfied himself by continuing to stroke his thumb back and forth on her lip, keeping it gentle even though he felt anything but. “It’s not bad, it’s just not going to happen.”
Violet met his gaze silently, her jaw tight. Then she said, “I know why you need it, Eli. All that anger and pain … It’s fuel, isn’t it?”
He wanted to deny it. Wanted to deny that he even felt either of those emotions, but he couldn’t. It would be a lie. They were there no matter how hard he’d tried to get rid of them, lingering like ghosts in his mind, in his heart. And she was right. He did need them. Because without them …
You’d be useless, soft Kane Archer. The man who let his wife die.
Fucking hell, this conversation needed to end. She seemed to be able to see below the surface of him in a way that nobody else could, and that was unacceptable. Yet another reason he had to keep her out any way he could.
“This isn’t amateur psychology hour, princess.” He slowed the movement of his thumb, tracing up to include the delicate curves of her upper lip too. “And I’m not your fucking patient.”
Temper flashed across her face. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then stop trying to psychoanalyze me.” He dropped his hand from her mouth, holding her gaze. “I don’t need it. I don’t want it.”
Her jaw jutted mutinously, a green spark of anger glowing in the blue depths of her eyes. “I’m just trying—”
“I don’t care what you’re just trying to do.” He leaned forward to the box of condoms sitting on the coffee table in front of him and took one out, leaning back against the couch again. “You can’t save me. Not if I don’t want to be saved.”
She looked away, down to the condom in his hands. Then she grabbed it from him and tore open the packet, turning to face him, sitting up and straddling him with her knees on either side of his thighs. “Fine,” she said tightly. “I’ll just fuck you instead.”
It was the response he wanted and yet it made him angry. Because he didn’t like that she wouldn’t look at him. Didn’t like the disappointment in her voice that laced each word.
Didn’t like that he cared.
But he didn’t know what else to say. This was the way it had to be and he had nothing else to offer her.
The anger stirred inside him, thick and hot, threaded through with a frustration he didn’t understand. Jesus Christ, what the hell did she expect? For him to get all emotional and pour out his heart to her like a goddamn teenage girl?
Okay, so maybe the grief and the pain and the anger hadn’t entirely gone like he’d thought, but that didn’t mean he had to share them with her or anyone else for that matter.
He grieved his wife. He was angry that she’d died. No, not angry, fucking furious.
And yeah, that was fuel. Seven years was a long time to pursue revenge, but he’d always understood it was a long game. And he had to have something to keep the engine running hot.
Violet was reaching for his shorts, all business now. The expression on her face was shuttered, her jaw full of tension. There was no softness there anymore, none of that terrible understanding that had the ability to crack him apart. It was the way it should be.
Yet he hated it.
Fucking hell. You liar. You do want her to save you.
Elijah pushed her off him all of a sudden as if he could push away that thought too. Because it wasn’t happening. It was too late for him, had been too late the moment Marie died. The day he’d finally realized the depth of his failure and what he’d have to do to make amends. Nothing could change that. Nothing could change what he’d had to do over the course of seven years either.
There was no saving him.
Violet’s eyes were wide and wary. “What did I do now?”
He couldn’t explain, not when he was barely able to even admit it to himself, so he ignored her. Standing, he pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it on the floor, doing the same to his shorts and boxers, until he was finally naked.
Then he turned back to her.
She was sitting on the couch, the condom clutched in her hand, staring at him. Flushed and golden and bare.
Christ, he’d had enough of this emotional shit. Enough of talking. Maybe once he’d been able to do that, share his feelings, let someone in, but that had been a long time ago, before Marie had died. Now the ability had been burned right out of him. And the sooner Violet learned that, the sooner she understood that he had nothing to give her, the better.
He reached out and grabbed the condom from her, rolling it quickly down his achingly hard cock. “Turn over.” He made the order hard and cold.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He could have told her that he wanted her on her stomach so he didn’t have to look at her face or see the disappointment in her eyes, but he didn’t. Instead he moved over to her and without a word, flipped her over so she was facedown. Instantly she put her hands on the couch cushions, levering herself up a little. “Eli, I—”
“Stay like that. Don’t fucking move.”
Her mouth became a hard line, but she did what she was told, turning her head to watch him as he got onto the couch behind her. He knelt and put his hands on her hips, lifting them up and back. Her skin felt so good under his fingers, soft and satiny smooth.
He looked down, unable to help himself, following the elegant curve of her spine, the indent of her hips, the swell of her buttocks, the sweet vulnerability of her bare neck. And fury and hunger twined suddenly inside him, making his heart race, making him pant like a fucking dog.
Why did he always feel this way around her? Why could he never make sense of it?
Because you don’t want to make sense of it. Just like you don’t want to admit that you want her to save you.
The truth stared him in the face, inevitable. Irrevocable. It had been a long, long time since he’d had an emotional response to anything and he was out of practice. Self-analysis had never been his thing anyway, and besides, while he’d been with Fitzgerald, he simply couldn’t let himself think too deeply about anything.
She mattered, he’d already decided that. But he’d thought that had been an intellectual decision, a clear, logical choice.
Yet something inside him wanted more than that. That darkness, that hunger, the yearning he couldn’t ever admit that he felt, it wanted so much more. To consume her, devour her, make her his in every way possible. Hold her tight. Keep her safe. Never let her go.
It rose up inside him, inevitable as the pull of the tide, shattering the hard, cold shell he’d tried to surround himself with. He found himself gripping her hips as he positioned himself, holding on tight as if he was afraid she was going to get away, before pushing hard and deep inside her, the wet heat of her pussy clenching around his cock like a vise, a choked cry coming from her.
And he couldn’t stop. He pulled out then flexed his hips, slamming back inside her. She made another soft, desperate sound, her body trembling, but even then he didn’t pause, didn’t take a breath. He did it again and again, watching her body move restlessly beneath him, her head turning to the side, her lush mouth open, panting like he was.
Pleasure and that primitive, savage need began to unfurl inside him on great, black wings, making him grab the back of her neck to hold her still as he drove himself inside her. Violet jerked, her spine bowing, a long, low moan breaking from her. He could feel her pussy squeezing him tightly as the orgasm gripped her, and he felt the satisfaction of it rip through him like a hit of Columbia’s finest.
Oh fuck, yes. He couldn’t resist this. He’d been too long without it, without warmth and softness and the smooth skin of a woman under him. He’d been too long without Violet. And hell, maybe he didn’t need to go without anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in any hurry and he could gorge himself on her while he had the chance. He didn’t have to let her in, he didn’t have to open himself up. But he could give her this. That would be enough wouldn’t it? He wasn’t the only one who’d gone without.
He slid his free hand down her back, feeling her muscles shift and flex as he thrust into her, listening to her hoarse cries. She shivered under his touch, the cries turning into little sobs.
“Again, Violet,” he murmured roughly.
She shook her head, but he reached for one of her hands, gripping her wrist and pulling it down, guiding her fingers between her thighs to her clit. “Touch yourself,” he ordered. “Again, princess. Again.” And he covered her hand with his, moving her finger on her own slick flesh.
“Eli…” His name was a broken sound. “Please…”
He slowed his thrusts right down, easing in and out, watching her shift and tremble beneath him. She’d told him she wouldn’t fight him, and she wasn’t. She was all soft and pliable, like prey in the jaws of a wolf.
She had surrendered.
Yours now.
Satisfaction spread through him, the hunger coming with it, and there was no thinking anymore. Only the raw, savage desire that gripped him tight whenever she was around.
Elijah held his hand over hers, guiding her finger in tight, slick circles around and around her clit, stroking his cock in and out of her, not stopping, not pausing. Driving her closer and closer to the edge. She sobbed then gave a sudden hoarse scream, her whole body shaking as she came.
Then he pushed her down flat and leaned forward, right over her, his hands on either side of her head, covering her with his body. And he began to fuck her hard, deep, fast. Giving into the savagery inside him, so that the sounds of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the room, along with the hoarse gasp of his breathing and her sharp cries.
He lowered his head as the pleasure began to tear into him, sinking his teeth into her shoulder, wanting the salty taste of her skin on his tongue as he came. And when the orgasm finally detonated, blowing his mind completely, he came down on her, pressing her softness into the couch.
“You’re mine, princess,” he whispered as it began to hit. “You’re fucking mine.”
* * *
Violet kept her eyes shut tight, her brain cloudy with the effects of two intense climaxes in a row, fighting to breathe. Because he was all around her, the heat of his body, the scent of forests and snow and sex, and Jesus, she could even hear the strong, steady beat of his heart.
It should have been suffocating, she should have felt crushed. But she didn’t. In fact, there was a part of her that wanted to lie here forever and never move. There was something comforting about the weight of all that muscle, all that contained power. She felt safe tucked beneath him, anchored. No longer alone, but protected.
You’re mine, princess. You’re fucking mine.
The words echoed and reechoed inside her head, and the warm, safe feeling began to dissipate. What the hell did he mean by that? He’d been very clear that he wasn’t going to let her in, so why was he getting all possessive of her?
She swallowed, her throat dry, the aching, lonely thing inside of her shivering with pleasure at the thought of such possessiveness. At the raw heat in his voice as he’d said it. No one had ever gotten possessive of her. No one had wanted her enough, and even thinking about it made her feel desperate. And also afraid. She’d lost so much already—did she really want to let herself think she could have this?
The weight on her eased, and she had to bite her lip to keep from protesting, wanting it back. He slid from her body, shifting away from her, and then there was cold air at her back, the couch dipping then rising up again as he got off it.
She kept her eyes closed, listening to his footsteps recede, then she curled up tight, folding herself around the ache in her chest.
How had it come to this? That she’d fallen for the man who’d kidnapped her at gunpoint? A hard, cold man, twisted by grief and the need for revenge. A man who wouldn’t ever let her help or heal him. A man who wouldn’t ever trust her.
She’d hoped that by not fighting, that by surrendering to him completely, she’d get him to drop his guard. Yet he hadn’t, not even a little bit.
How naive of her. How stupid. Perhaps she should have used that damn code when he’d given it to her and just gotten out.
Footsteps sounded again, coming closer and closer. He moved quietly for such a big guy, but she could hear the sound of his breathing as he paused beside the couch. She could feel the heat of his bare skin too. He was close.
She didn’t move, keeping herself curled up tight. With any luck he’d just leave her alone, which would be good, because right now she had nothing left, feeling bruised and hard, used both physically and emotionally.
Pathetic. He won’t give you what you want and now you’re sulking like a little bitch.
Well, okay, yeah, it was pathetic. But shit, she’d had a hell of a day. All her fears about her father had not only been confirmed, they’d ended up being worse than anything she could possibly imagine. Her mother had basically told her not to call her. And now she’d ended up having feelings for a guy who shot at her.
How fucked up was that?
You really are your father’s daughter.
The thought was like a knife sliding beneath her skin, cold and sharp. Perhaps she should never have let herself believe it when he’d told her there was nothing wrong with her. After all, there had to be a reason why her brother had disappeared. Why her mother had always been distant. Why her father and ended up being such a monster.
No, she was being ridiculous, wasn’t she?
She curled up tighter, only to feel a pair of powerful arms slide beneath her, lifting her, gathering her up against the hard, hot wall of his chest. She opened her eyes, finding his inky stare looking down at her.
“I don’t want to talk,” he said in a soft, rough voice. “And I’m not going to give you my life story. But if you need someone to make you forget for a while, I will.”
The dryness in her throat intensified. It wasn’t the capitulation she’d wanted and she was starting to think he just wasn’t the kind of man who’d bend, not even a little. But it was an olive branch of sorts. “And if I don’t?”
“Then you don’t, and you sleep on the couch.”
Violet swallowed. What a bitch of a choice. Part of her wanted to tell him to fuck off, that she’d take the couch and to hell with him. But she was too raw and too lonely, and the feel of his arms around her was far too good.
“I don’t want to sleep on the couch,” she said thickly.
He stared at her for a second, his gaze merciless. Then he turned and headed toward the hall doorway with her held tight in his arms.
“I couldn’t save her,” he said, short and abrupt.
She glanced up at him in surprise. “Couldn’t save who?”
“My wife.” He wasn’t looking at her, his attention on where he was going, so she took a minute to study the forceful lines of his face, all hard planes and harsh angles. Not daring to breathe in case he stopped speaking.
“Fitzgerald befriended her. Promised to help her with her career. I told her it was too good to be true, but she told me not to worry. That this would be great for her. I shouldn’t have listened.”
Her throat was tight, her heart heavy and hurting. So he was giving her something of himself, even though he said he wouldn’t. Yet it made her ache even more. “That wasn’t your fault,” she murmured.
A flash of darkness as he glanced down at her. “No. It wasn’t. It was Kane’s.”
She swallowed past the tightness. “It wasn’t his either.”
“Bullshit.” Elijah’s voice was flat with certainty. “He made a mistake. He should have been harder with her. Should have protected her more. But he didn’t. He loved her too much instead.”
Violet felt something curl up tight in her chest as they made their way down the hallway to the bedroom, felt her eyes get dry and sore. Of course he’d loved his wife. Where else had all this rage come from? Love. Love was always the problem.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk,” she said hoarsely.
“I don’t.”
He carried her into the bedroom without another word, going over to the big bed with the black velvet quilt on top. The big wide bed he’d ordered her not to go anywhere near two days ago.
She was tempted to say something about that as he put her down on it, the velvet quilt soft and sensual against her bare skin. But he didn’t give her a chance to either speak or think about what that meant. Instead he followed her down, pushing her beneath him, his mouth finding hers, hard and demanding.
And there was no talking at all after that.
* * *
“Okay,” Eva said from her chair beside the fire, her attention on the laptop balanced on her knees. “I’ve finally managed to track down some info. It’s not much, but it’s something.”
Gabriel thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans, trying to keep his impatience in check. “Well don’t keep us in suspense,” he said acidly. “Fucking spit it out.”
Eva raised an eyebrow at his tone but let it pass without comment. Looked like his extremely bad mood was obvious. “The name we’re looking for is Jericho,” she said.
The Second Circle meeting room was silent for a long moment.
Alex, sitting on the couch with Katya and Honor, frowned. “Never heard of him.”
“Not many people have.” Zac was standing beside Eva’s chair, looking down at her laptop screen. “He’s a fairly shadowy figure from the looks of things, and what little information we have about him is sketchy.”
Fucking wonderful. Yet another criminal asshole to track down.
Gabriel clenched his fists in his pockets. Opposite him on the couch, Honor gave him a level, blue glance. A sudden uprush of intense desire caught him by the throat and it was all he could do not to leap over the damn coffee table, pick her up in his arms, and take her somewhere quiet where he could forget all about this fucking mess for a while. Forget about the fact he had a sister. A sister who was in deep shit.
But of course he couldn’t do that with Honor. At least not yet.
“That’s it?” he demanded, getting himself the fuck together. “That’s all we know?”
Eva eyed him. “This guy’s gone to a lot of trouble to hide himself, so you’re going to have to give me more than just a couple of hours if you want more info.” She looked down at her screen again. “But what I did find out was that he—or at least businesses he’s associated with—have a lot of fingers in a lot of different pies. Trafficking, drugs, weapons. A whole lot of bad shit basically.”
“What’s his association with Fitzgerald then?” Gabriel tried to make it sound less like a demand, but failed miserably.
“I think that’s obvious,” Zac said in his usual calm way. “They’re both in the same business. I’d say Fitzgerald was angling to grow his little empire and wanted Jericho’s European connections.”
“Shit.” Alex sighed and looked at Katya. “Should have kept Conrad alive, sweetheart. He might have come in handy right about now.”
Katya snorted. “I have no regrets about South, and I’m sure we can find the information we need our ourselves.” She glanced around. “What about the remaining members of the Seven Devils? Perhaps they know something?”
The Russian woman had a point. There were two Devils still alive, and one was Honor’s stepfather. The Circles club hadn’t bothered with them, since Guy Tremain was still recovering from a gunshot wound to the head and was having memory problems. The other, Mantel, Zac was keeping under surveillance just in case he decided to make a move toward taking control of Fitzgerald’s empire. So far he hadn’t, though maybe he was just biding his time.
“Good idea,” Zac said. “Perhaps I should pay Mr. Mantel a visit. I’ve been meaning to have a chat with him anyway.”
“You know how much I enjoy your little chats, Zac,” Alex commented lazily, leaning back on the couch and sliding an arm around Katya’s waist, “but do we really want to upset people right now? After Fitzgerald’s very public death?”
Zac lifted a shoulder. “I’ll be discreet. From what we’ve managed to discover, Mantel hasn’t been active in Fitzgerald’s empire for years, though given these men’s ability to hide their nasty little secrets, who knows?” He smiled and it wasn’t pleasant. “I’m sure he’ll be willing to talk if offered the right incentive.”
Gabriel shifted on his feet, angry and restless. “He needs to know he’s a dead man if he tries to take on any of Fitzgerald’s shit, understand?”
“Of course. Don’t worry, Gabe, I’ll make sure he knows his position.”
“Okay, so what other options do we have for finding this Jericho motherfucker?” Gabriel paced down to the end of the fireplace before turning back. “I want to know why he’s after Violet. What he wants her for.”
Eva pushed the laptop shut. “Could be Fitzgerald was hoping for an alliance. These criminal factions are like medieval kingships in a lot of ways. Marriage and shit like that tying people together.”
“But Fitzgerald is dead,” Honor pointed out. “So why does Jericho, or whoever this man is, want her now?”
“Good fucking point.” Gabriel paced back toward Eva, fists clenched tight. Christ, not being able to do anything sucked balls. “If it’s an alliance he wanted, then he’s shit out of luck now.”
“Unless he wants to take over Fitzgerald’s operation,” Eva said. “Then again, why would he need Violet? From what I can gather about this dude, he’s pretty goddamn powerful. He could just waltz in and take it if he wanted to.”
“So there’s absolutely nothing about this guy anywhere?” Alex asked, black brows drawn together.
“Nope.” Eva pulled a face. “All I managed to find were mentions of him. And from the sounds of it, even the people who work for him don’t know who he is.”
“Excellent. Another shadowy underworld figure.” Alex’s tone was acidic. “Just what we need.”
Gabriel stopped pacing, abruptly sick of all the talking. He wanted to act. The longer they pissed about trying to figure things out, the longer it was going to take to get Violet back. And he really wanted to get Violet back. Fitzgerald had screwed enough with his family. This shit was going to end.
“What’s happening with Violet?” He looked at Zac. “Any movement on that little tracking device?”
The big mercenary shook his head. “No. Looks like she’s back at Hunt’s apartment.”
“At least my sweater is,” Honor murmured.
Not appreciating the reminder, Gabriel shot her a narrow glance. “Yeah, well, that’s all we got, so we’ll assume that she’s there.” He glanced once more back at Zac. “Shall we go pay Mantel a little visit then?”
“I can do this on my own, Gabe.”
“I know you can, but I gotta do something.” He only just refrained from kicking the coffee table. “Waiting around like this is driving me fucking insane.”
“Yes,” Honor said, pushing herself up from the couch. “Please take him with you, Zac. He’s driving me insane too.”
“I’ll join you,” Alex offered. “I could do with some fresh air.”
“With your shoulder like that?” Zac nodded toward the shoulder in question. “I don’t think so.”
Alex raised a brow. “And here was I thinking you were actually going to chat.”
“I could go,” Katya offered. “I am quite skilled at negotiations.”
“Oh I know how skilled you are, Katya mine.” Alex was grinning. “Believe me, I know.”
Katya gave him a disdainful look, yet the corner of her mouth had turned up.
“Are we done here?” Gabriel growled, in no mood to watch Alex and Katya flirt with each other. “Because if you hadn’t noticed, there’s some important shit going down that’s gotta be handled.”
“Hey Gabe. Chill out.” Eva put her laptop in the battered black messenger back that sat beside her chair then got to her feet. “Okay, if you guys are going to have a Zac chat with that bastard, I’ll get back home and do some more digging about this Jericho guy.”
Gabriel refrained from telling her his opinions about the idea of “chilling out.” How the fuck was he supposed to do that when his half sister was about to be used as bait to lure out some major goddamn crime lord? It didn’t matter that he barely knew her, that he’d only had a few days to get used to the idea of having a sister at all. She was the only family he had and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.
Zac, however, caught his eye, and Gabriel knew the other man understood. Zac had had a sister once too.
“Actually,” Alex said. “I think I will come with you two. I remember Mantel from the good old days back at the Lucky Seven. Might be able to think of some good leverage.”
Gabriel glanced at Alex and saw the same look he’d seen in Zac’s eyes.
“Welcome to the club, Gabe,” his friend said dryly. “Isn’t it wonderful having a sister?”
* * *
Violet woke with something large, hot, and extremely heavy lying on top of her. It certainly wasn’t the quilt, though that was pretty heavy. The quilt wasn’t breathing for one thing.
Sleepily, she opened her eyes. It took her brain a couple of seconds to catch up with the fact that she wasn’t in her own bed, though she felt comfortable enough to be. And that she wasn’t alone.
A thrill of fear went though her before she remembered.
Elijah.
She blinked and reoriented. She was in his room. In his bed. Which meant that the heavy thing lying on top of her was likely to be six feet, four inches of muscle-packed male. And sure enough, when she looked down, a powerful arm was wrapped possessively around her waist, as weighty and strong as iron chains.
It made her feel good, despite the near suffocation factor. As if he didn’t want to let her go. A dangerous thing to think about a man like him, especially when he’d been very clear about what he was and was not going to give her.
Ignoring the feeling, Violet twisted so she faced him and saw that he was asleep, thick black lashes lying still on his sharp cheekbones, his breathing slow and regular. He looked so much younger, his face relaxed in sleep, all that seething, dark, cold menace hidden. Even … vulnerable, a word she’d never thought could be applied to a man as hard as he was.
Except he hadn’t always been Elijah Hunt. He’d once been a man called Kane, who’d been in love with his wife. Who’d lost her.
Violet followed the path of the scar on his face, her fingers itching to trace it for some inexplicable reason. Maybe this man here, fast asleep with his arm around her, was that Kane. A kinder, gentler man. A more vulnerable man.
A scarred man.
She studied his face, fascinated all of a sudden. Where had he gotten that scar? And the other ones, because there were lots of other ones. She’d seen them last night as he’d kept her beneath him, or above him, or in front of him, surrounding her with that hot hard body of his, that equally hot, hard cock buried deep inside her. He hadn’t let her touch him though, no matter how much she’d begged. And she had begged, pathetic damn woman that she was.
Her gaze dropped to the tattoo of the eagle on his chest, carrying the heart dripping blood. And she couldn’t help it this time, she got one arm free and put her fingers on it. His skin was so smooth and hot, the muscle beneath it hard.
She thought she knew what that tattoo meant. It was for his wife, wasn’t it?
He loved her too much. Elijah’s voice last night, blaming Kane. Blaming himself. Which was stupid because, God, he hadn’t known then what her father was. How could he? Not even she’d known, and she’d been his daughter.
Violet spread her hand out on his chest. He hadn’t wanted to talk, yet he’d given her that little piece of his own tragedy nevertheless. He’d trusted her with it.
His heart beat heavy and strong beneath her palm and suddenly her breath shivered in her throat, desire catching her like thorns in a bramble bush. She wanted to touch him, taste his skin, have him moan in her ear the way she’d moaned in his. Drive him as crazy as he’d driven her the night before. Make her mark on him somehow before he let her go.
The thought made her glance away, down at her own body pressed hard and tight against his. Examining the marks he’d left on her. The bruises from his kisses and his teeth on her breasts and down further, on her inner thighs. He’d probably left them on her throat too since that, apparently, was a major erogenous zone for her, and he’d seemed to have made it his mission to find out all those little places on her body that made her gasp and burn.
Pity vice versa was a no go.
She let her fingers run down over the tattoo and further, across the hard, sculpted muscle of his abs. He felt so good. Powerful and strong, and yet so warm. This man wasn’t cold, he was a goddamn bonfire.
Her fingers brushed lower and she felt his abdominal muscles tense beneath her fingertips. Okay, so did that mean he was awake now? But he didn’t move and he didn’t speak, so she kept touching him, moving even lower to the trail of hair that led down between his powerful thighs. And lower still, her fingers moving over the smooth, hot skin of a very impressive morning erection.
A shudder went through him as she curved her fingers around him, but still he didn’t speak. Nor did he pull away.
She didn’t look at him, sensing somehow that eye contact would break the spell. That he’d end up pulling away or turning it back on her, and she would have lost this chance. So carefully she kept her gaze on the tanned skin of his chest, letting her fingers measure the length and girth of him, stroking up and down his shaft then lightly circling the sensitive skin around the head.
His breathing changed, becoming harsher, his body tensing against hers.
Violet circled his cock with her hand and squeezed lightly. She’d only touched a man like this once before, and that had been Aaron, her one and only boyfriend. They’d never slept together, though she’d gone down on him a couple of times, a process that hadn’t been all that successful since Aaron had been so nervous of her father finding out, he’d found it difficult to keep it up.
He’d been afraid with good reason as it turned out.
Elijah was different though. He’d never been afraid of her father and he was a damn sight tougher, harder and more powerful than Aaron had ever been. God, why did she find that so helplessly attractive?
Whatever the reasons, it was majorly hot and so was he. And she wanted to taste him. Right now.
Slowly, holding him tight in her hand, Violet bent to press her mouth to his chest. The salty flavor of his skin made her shiver with delight and she couldn’t resist touching him with her tongue, licking him like a cat.
Then before she knew quite what was happening, one large, warm hand came to settle on the back of her head, his fingers curling into her short hair, and he shoved her down.
Oh, so he was awake. Very awake.
His body shifted and she found herself lying between his thighs as he sat up, his dick still held tight in her fist. Once again he didn’t speak, putting his other hand on her head, moving his grip until she was held firmly between his hands, and there was pressure as he urged her head down even further.
Her throat was dry and her heartbeat was speeding up, the ache of desire suddenly as sharp as her hunger.
It was very clear what he wanted her to do.
Obeying without thought, Violet gripped him tighter and opened her mouth, circling the satiny skin of his cock head with her tongue. The sharp hiss of his indrawn breath sounded in the quiet of the bedroom, his hand moving again, fingers curling even tighter in her hair.
And oh Jesus, he tasted so good. Salty and musky and male. She closed her eyes and began to explore him in earnest, licking his hard shaft then circling once again the slick head.
He made a growling sound, deep in his throat, his hips flexing, pressing his cock insistently against her lips so that she had no choice but to open her mouth and let him inside. She shivered helplessly as he slid in deep, pressing against the back of her throat. But she took him, because this was what she’d been wanting to do since last night. Make him feel good, take the pain away. And finally he was letting her.
It would have been better if he hadn’t been the one in charge, but she had a feeling that would always be the case with Elijah. He wasn’t a man who handed control to others, not even a little bit. So she’d have to work with what she had and that, as it turned out, was quite a lot.
As he began to thrust into her mouth, she sucked him, licked him. Squeezed him with her hand. And with her other hand, she began to stroke him. His stomach, his thighs, and further, sliding to cup his balls, then feeling them begin to tighten in her hand.
He made another deep, growling sound as she stroked them too, squeezing the base of his cock, increasing the suction. His grip on her had tightened, his breathing ragged and harsh.
“Fuck,” he said finally, the word almost sounding like a prayer. “Fuck, princess.”
And then he was thrusting harder, faster, and making short, rough sounds as he fucked her mouth. Until he fell out of rhythm, his body abruptly drawing so tight she thought he might break. Then he let out a low, guttural roar as he came, his hips jerking, his fingers so tight in her hair it was painful. She kept her eyes closed, her heart thundering as she swallowed him down, feeling weirdly as though she’d won a victory of some kind.
A strange, tense moment passed, his hands on her head, his cock still semihard in her mouth, his body shuddering. Then he pulled her head away from him and rolled to the side, putting his feet on the floor and getting out of the bed.
She blinked as he walked from the room without a backward glance.
Great. What had she done now? Had the blowjob been that crap?
But no, she knew it wasn’t that. He was so guarded, so wary, and maybe she’d managed to crack his defenses just then. And perhaps he’d walked away so he could get them back up again.
Yeah, probably a little too much amateur psychology, but at least that was a better reason than because he’d hated having her mouth on him.
The only problem was that the whole thing had left her aching and restless, need pulsing hot and heavy between her thighs. She could taste him on her tongue and, God help her, that only made her hotter.
Slowly, she sat up, debating whether or not to follow him, maybe entice him back to bed. And then he appeared in the doorway again, her clothes in his hands.
The expression on his face was impenetrable as he came over to the bed and tossed the clothes down on it. “Get dressed,” he said shortly. “I’ll get us some breakfast and then we’re going out.”
Violet opened her mouth to suggest that maybe breakfast could wait for a moment, but he was already going over to the dresser near the windows and taking out some clothes for himself. His movements were short and sharp, and he was radiating tension like a fire radiates heat.
She didn’t understand what she’d done, but clearly more sex was out of the question.
Swallowing back the real questions she wanted to ask, she made do with, “Going out where?”
“I’ll tell you over breakfast.” He pulled on boxers, jeans, and a dark, charcoal gray long-sleeved T-shirt. Then he took out a pair of socks and once more walked from the room without another word.
Violet sat on the bed staring after him, trying to get her stupid emotions back under control. Patience was clearly the key with Elijah, so she’d have to try a little harder to cultivate that patience and not push too hard.
Why are you the one having to do all the work? Why can’t he be the one to come to you?
She pulled a face at the snide voice in her head and how it made it sound as if this was a relationship she and Elijah were having, and not just two people having sex. There was no relationship. And she was the one doing the work because she was the one who wanted more. All he wanted from her was the sex.
Slowly Violet got out of bed and grabbed her clothes, heading for the shower. A bit pointless to wash herself clean when all she had to put on were already-worn clothes, but she suddenly felt the need to have a bit of space away from him.
She took her time in the shower, washing her hair and soaping herself down, letting her hands linger on her own skin, unassuaged desire echoing through her. It made her shiver, and briefly she toyed with the idea of getting herself off just to ease it. She glanced toward the door, a sudden fantasy of him throwing it open to find her with her hands between her thighs, then storming over and getting into the shower with her, pinning her to the walls, and taking control.
But the door remained stubbornly closed.
Violet sighed, her own touch abruptly unsatisfying. Shutting off the water, she got out, dried herself, and dressed. Pausing in front of the mirror, she pulled a face at her spiky hair, wishing for a hairdryer to get at least some semblance of a proper hairstyle, but there was nothing like that in Elijah’s bathroom. Instead she made do with running her hands through it a couple of times, before making her way down the hallway and out into the main room of the apartment.
The smell of coffee drew her to the kitchen, where she found Elijah briskly making toast and bacon and eggs. She stopped in the doorway, staring at him. He looked so domestic standing there at the stove, turning over the eggs with slick economy.
“Go sit at the table,” he ordered without looking at her. “I’ll bring it out to you.”
The protest was there, ready on her tongue, but she pressed her lips hard against it. Patience and no pushing, right?
She turned and went out again, going over to sit at the dining table like a good girl. It had a glass top, the surface absolutely spotless, the dining chairs surrounding it works of minimalist art in white steel.
Was this another remnant of his life with Marie? And had she chosen it or had it been his decision?
She gave another look around the apartment, at the bits and pieces of his earlier life, at the way they’d been arranged so carefully. The bed had been one of those bits and pieces, she was sure of it, but she had the feeling this apartment hadn’t been theirs. This was all his, and yet he’d furnished it like his old life. So careful, so deliberate. Why? A reminder of what he’d lost?
Grief stuck in her chest like a sharp stone. After Theo had disappeared, she used to go into his old room and just hang out there. Sit on his bed and look around at his things as if they could somehow conjure up his absent spirit. It had been a comfort and yet at the same time, it had made things worse. Because Theo was gone and all those things of his couldn’t bring him back. They only served to make the pain sharper.
Violet looked down at the cool surface of the table, unshed tears clogging her throat. Jesus Christ, she was a mess. Pretty much the story of her goddamn life.
The sound of plates on the glass of the table jolted her and she looked up to see Elijah pushing a load of eggs and bacon and toast in front of her, following it up with a mug of coffee.
“Thanks,” she muttered, grabbing the cutlery he’d also put down beside the plate and hoping he hadn’t seen her blinking back tears. “You’d make someone a lovely wife.”
He ignored that, sitting down opposite her and digging into his own breakfast.
Typical Elijah. His refusal to engage was so fucking annoying.
There was a brief silence as they ate, and then he asked shortly, “Where’s your brother’s storage facility?”
Violet stared at him, the question so unexpected she wasn’t sure what he was talking about. “Storage facility?”
“The one you told me about. The place you said was accessed recently. Where is it?”
Carefully, she put down her knife. “Why do you want to know that?”
“Because that’s where we’re going.”
She blinked. “What do you mean that’s ‘where we’re going’?”
Elijah’s black brows drew down. “Are you having problems with comprehension this morning, Violet? We are going to go take a look in your brother’s storage locker. It’s a relatively simple concept to grasp.”
Her heartbeat had stilled, and there was a strange clog of emotion in her throat. “Why?” she asked bluntly. “What’s Theo to you?”
“Theo is nothing to me. You, on the other hand, are.” His black eyes didn’t waver from hers. “Your brother is a loose end you need to tie up. And once you have, we can concentrate on Jericho.”
What was he saying? For a second she forgot completely about Theo, too busy thinking about what Elijah meant. Did he mean that she was something to him? Or only in relation to Jericho?
Wow, desperate much?
She swallowed, trying to get rid of the emotion sitting there. Okay, she could drive herself mad trying to guess his motives. Hell, he was a straight-up guy, maybe she should just ask him.
Violet reached out for her coffee mug and wrapped her fingers around it, letting its warmth heat her chilled hands. “What do you mean I’m something to you?”
Something in his eyes flickered, but he didn’t look away. “You’re my means to an end.” His voice was cold. “And I can’t have you distracted thinking about other things, not when we need Jericho thinking this meeting is entirely legit.”
He was lying. She was’t sure how she knew or what had given it away, but something deep inside told her that not only was he lying to convince her, he was lying to convince himself.
Perhaps he knew that too, because he went on quickly, without waiting for her to respond. “Jericho has to believe you’re going to go with him, and that what I want are the business links he promised your father. That I’m going to take over your father’s empire.”
She sipped her coffee, studying him, the emotion making its way down her throat to sit in her chest. “And what happens to me?”
“I’ll make sure you’re safe.” No hesitation this time and no flicker either. He totally believed it. “You won’t be going anywhere with him.”
She wanted to ask what was with the sudden urge to protect her, especially when he’d never been concerned about what happened to her after he’d given her to Jericho before. But she stayed quiet. God knew, she shouldn’t be thinking about this anyway, not when he’d offered to help her follow up on her lead on Theo.
Haven’t you given up on that?
Well, yeah, she had yesterday. It had seemed selfish and wrong to keep looking for a dead man when compared to putting right the crimes her father had committed.
She took another sip of her coffee. “Theo doesn’t matter. I told you yesterday that—”
“I know what you told me. But it’ll cost us nothing to go have a look.”
Another complex mix of emotions shifted in her chest. Hope and fear. Hope that she’d at last find out the truth about her brother. Fear that what had happened to him was the only truth.
“It might cost me,” she murmured under her breath.
Elijah’s midnight gaze held hers, uncompromising, ruthless. “You’re strong enough,” he said, and this time there was not even a hint of a lie in his voice. “Believe me, Violet. If there is a cost, you’re strong enough to pay it.”