“How do we know Waters’ men can’t find us here?” I say, doing what I can to dry off considering I have water literally dripping from my clothes. “They found the cabin.”
“No one knows about this place but Walker.” He scrubs his hair with a towel. “And I only told them about it yesterday.”
“Deleon found the cabin,” I argue, closing the space he’s put between us and squatting down beside the mattress.
“No one but me knew about this cave until yesterday,” he says, “when I told my Walker team. “
“You said no one knew about the cabin.”
“No one that I thought could, or would, hurt us,” he says. “That was a misstep. I fucked up.”
“How do we know Walker didn’t turn on you?”
“They didn’t.” He digs in a box and sets socks, a T-shirt, and sweats on the mattress, obviously done with the idea of Walker turning on him. “Those are for you,” he says. “I have safety pins for the sweats.” He reaches in another box and sets a small box, that I assume holds the pins, on top of the stack of clothes.
I ignore the clothes, not ready to allow him to change the subject. “Someone told Deleon, Adrian.”
“It wasn’t Walker. You’re shivering. Get out of those wet clothes.”
Somehow, I never thought being ordered out of my wet clothes by this particular man would ever feel cold and commanding, more than hot and commanding, but it does. He’s using it to shut down my questions.
“I better keep on my pants, though, in case we have to leave suddenly. I mean, Savage could be here any minute, right?”
“Don’t count on it,” he says. “The storm and the darkness mean we’re all safer waiting for morning. “
“Can you call him?”
“I dumped my phone at the cabin,” he says. “I can’t risk that somehow being how Deleon found us.”
“I thought your phone was safe?”
“We have to be paranoid right now.” He motions to a sheet hung up like a shower curtain, though I’m not sure, considering we’re in a cave. “There’s a portable toilet back there.”
I glance at the sheet in surprise and then back at him. “You really thought of everything.”
“Right before I went undercover with the Devils, I knew how dangerous the mission would be. I prepared for a moment like this one and hoped it wouldn’t come.”
And I can’t help but wonder what role his brother Alex played in this, but I give up on seeking answers. He’s not ready to talk. I can see that. I want him to know I get it, I understand, even if it’s killing me. “Adrian—”
He stands and strips his wet T-shirt over his head, his hard, tattooed body now on full display, my words lost, my mouth dry.
“You wanted to say something?” he asks, but his tone is as cold as him commanding me to undress. I have the impression he’s just used that tone and his state of undress to distract me, even manipulate where my head is right now. Despite truly understanding why he might do so, why he’s so worried about the question I might ask, I don’t like this. I don’t like how he’s making me feel.
Suddenly needing the same space his words and actions declare he needs, I scoop up the clothes. “I’ll use the bathroom and change,” I murmur, rotating as I stand. In a couple of steps, I’m behind the curtain and I’m not sure if that is good or bad. I’ve basically just told him that I won’t undress in front of him.
I don’t know what is happening between us right now.
Chapter Seven
PRI
Standing behind the sheet, I draw a deep breath and bring the makeshift bathroom into view. There’s a portable toilet, a trashcan, and even a mock sink made from a bowl with soap and bottled water. A small box of supplies sits beside it and includes toothpaste and brushes. The man has covered it all, I decide, and I wonder what it was like to be undercover, in a situation so dangerous you needed a hideout in a cave. There are layers of torment to this man hidden beneath all of his jokes. This cave proves it.
I quickly dry off and change, after which I feel a ton better just wearing dry, albeit excessively large, clothes. As for my discarded, soaked items, my bra included, I hang them on the clothes rack—yes, there is a portable folding clothes rack. This place is like a well-stocked apartment.
Ready to rejoin Adrian, I’m nervous when I’ve never been nervous with him, thus my deep, calming breath, before I step into the main cavern. I find Adrian fully dressed in fresh, dry clothes, sitting on the mattress, his back against the cavern wall, his long legs stretched in front of him, his booted feet crossed. His body is perfect. His dark hair is damp, his handsome face schooled in an unreadable expression.
His eyes, those warm brown eyes, slide over me, lingering on the pucker of my nipples beneath the white tee that I’ve knotted at my waist. Heat and a mix of confusing notions stir in my belly and when his gaze lifts and collides with mine, there is a charge in the air that is as electric as it is familiar and welcome.
“I’m making hot chocolate,” he says, indicating the camping stove where a pot sits on top.
“How is that even possible?” I ask.
His lips curve, the hint of a smile easing the tension between us. “You don’t camp much, do you?”
“Once,” I say. “When I was twelve. All I remember is waking up with about a hundred mosquito bites on my forehead.”
He laughs. “That many, huh?”
“Yes!” I assure him. “I’m not joking, but,” I add, holding up a finger, “we did make s’mores on an open flame. I remember that fondly.”
“Now we make hot chocolate with propane.” He pats the mattress. “Come sit, Pri.” His voice is as warm as cocoa while our connection has somehow become as sticky as the marshmallows on that fire so long ago. Proven by him adding, “If you want to.”
That very statement or question, I’m not sure which, drives home the stickiness between us that was not present before Deleon showed up. In mere minutes, that monster built a wall Adrian and I must now tear down. Me changing behind that curtain added bricks, made it wider and taller. I don’t like it. I don’t welcome it. We’ve given Deleon too much power.
I want it back.
We need it back.
I join Adrian, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, not right next to him, but not on the opposite end of the inflated cushion either. “I can’t believe you were prepared enough for this to have hot chocolate in a cave.”
“And coffee and M & M’s,” he assures me. “Essentials matter.”
“Is this where you tell me a goofy joke about coffee?” I tease.
“No,” he says softly, a small tic in his jaw. “I don’t have a joke in me right now.”
I pull my knees to my chest and rotate to face him. “You got him, Adrian. If we can make Deleon talk—”
“He won’t talk,” he says, his expression unreadable and when I would push for answers, some sort of timer goes off. “That will be the hot water,” he announces, grabbing the pot and pouring water into two cups that must-have cocoa powder inside them.
He uses a wooden stir stick and swishes the contents of the cups and then hands me one. “Thank you,” I say, accepting the cup.
Our fingers brush, our eyes colliding with a jolt, the air thickening between us. “What do you call sad coffee?” he asks.
My lips curve. “I don’t know. What do you call sad coffee?”
“Depresso.”
I laugh, a genuine laugh that defies the hell of the past few hours. “That is so very cheesy.”
“But you laughed.”
“I did,” I say, and I don’t point out that just minutes ago he didn’t think he could tell a joke. I hope this means he’s relaxing back into our relationship. I sip the warm beverage that is both sweet and yummy. “How did you find this place?” I ask.
“I was involved in a shooting that fucked me up,” he surprises me by admitting. “I came up to the cabin and hiked to jus
t clear my head. Ironically, it was raining that day and I took shelter here in the cave. The storm lasted for hours and I had gear with me and just started exploring the cave.”
“When was that?”
“Five years ago, but I didn’t turn it into a shelter until I agreed to go undercover with the Devils.”
“Why create it at all if you thought the cabin was secure?”
“My father always told me to do better than him, be better than him. And definitely be better than my enemies.”
“You were,” I say, absoluteness in my tone. “You are, Adrian.”
His lips tighten. “I told you—”
“You’re dirty and bad,” I supply, knowing this story already.
“Yes,” he agrees, sipping his hot chocolate. “I am.”
I could push him now, dive into the topic of Deleon, remind him he could have killed him, but the edge between us is only now fading. I decide Deleon’s a stiff topic better eased into when we too are not so, well, stiff. Instead, I ask, “What was the shooting that upset you enough to seclude yourself out here?”
“A teenager. He drew on me. I had no choice, but his parents were good people. It destroyed them.”
My gut twists just hearing the explanation and not because of the words. Because that’s big and he shared it freely despite the fact that five years later, demons dance in the shadows of his eyes. My God, what is it that he won’t tell me? Or at least dreads telling me? I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to know, but I have no doubt at this point that he looks in the mirror and sees a monster, not a hero. I choose to see a hero. He is a hero.
I sip the hot chocolate and set it aside, scooting across the mattress to sit next to him, leaning against the cavern wall. Mere inches separate us.
“Tell me about falling into a hole as a kid,” he urges.
I glance over at him and lift the glass. “I might need wine.”
“I have whiskey.”
“If we stay in here long enough, I might need it,” I joke, but then backtrack. “Actually, talking about my little incident doesn’t really bother me. Not at all. In fact, I always feel like I’m over it and then I’ll have some crazy reaction to something, like the tunnel. It sideswipes me and makes me angry at myself for having so little control.” I wave my hands around the cavern. “I mean, why doesn’t this bother me but the tunnel did?”
“It’s small and the exits aren’t easy to see and reach.”
“True,” I concede, “but I freaked out when I first got into the tunnel, and I could still see the exit.”
“The exit we couldn’t go through without ending up dead,” he reminds me. “I think your mind has logic working for you. What happened when you were a kid?”
“My father had a big client in Texas. We spent the weekend at his ranch and I fell down a well. I broke an arm and a leg. It took them six hours to find me. I went through physical therapy, the whole gambit.”
“Ouch,” he grimaces. “That’s wicked. How old?”
“Six. I honestly barely remember it, which is why it’s hard to fathom why I still randomly have a reaction.”
“The mind stores the trauma,” he says softly, his lashes lowering and then lifting. “It’s with you forever.”
I have a flickering memory, a recent memory, a trigger in an unexpected, complicated place I shove aside. I focus on him. I need to focus on him. “Spoken like a man with experience.”
He reaches into a box and grabs a bottle of whiskey, removing the cap and slugging back a swallow. That’s his answer, his only answer and sometimes actions mean more than words. He offers me the bottle. I’m a horrible drinker, a truly horrible drinker but I take the bottle and slug it back, choking with the sharp pinch of the amber liquid.
Adrian laughs a deep, masculine rumble, and takes the bottle from me. “You okay?”
“As if you care. You laughed.”
“I care despite my amusement.”
“Hmm. Well. I think I should have stuck to hot chocolate.”
“Why?” he challenges, taking another long slug. “You’re in a cave with a devil. Drink.”
“You’re not a devil.”
“I was,” he says. “I had to be. And once a devil, always a devil.”
“You didn’t kill Deleon.”
“For you.” His eyes meet mine for just a moment before he tips the bottle to his lips and swallows, his chin tilting downward before he adds. “You don’t know what I’ve seen him do.” His gaze finds mine again, almost as if he wants, and even needs, me to see the truth in his face as he adds, “I would have killed him if you hadn’t been there.”
He means it, of that I’m certain. I take the bottle. “Then I guess we’d better hope I make that a good decision.”
I force down another swallow, and this time, the burn delivers a hazy sensation, a lightheaded feeling. I tip the bottle back again in a repeat and the sensation intensifies. My words are looser now, my limits wider. “I imagine your trust is a shiny ball,” I dare, bold enough to meet his stare as I add, “a prize I hunger to be awarded. Close enough to reach up and pluck from the darkness, only to have it dart just out of reach.” I hand him the bottle.
He grabs it and for several beats he says nothing, staring at me, his expression indiscernible, a pulse in the air as he says, “It’s not as simple as me just deciding to trust you, Pri.”
I’m remotely aware of the drip-drop of water nearby, stone to stone, a simple, discernible act of nature much like our attraction. But as he’s made clear, that is where simple ends for us.
But I am just whiskey’d up enough to plow forward, not in the slightest deterred from my mission, a mission I can only call him. I want him to stop seeing me as a person who will judge him instead of a woman who cares about him. “I haven’t trusted anyone in a very long time,” I say softly. “But I trust you.”
“You think this is about trust, but it’s not.”
“Then what’s it about?”
His jaw flexes. “The cold-hearted facts. I did things. Things you won’t like.”
“I did things, too,” I remind him. “Things you won’t like.”
He sets the bottle down. “Pri, damn it—”
“Adrian, damn it,” I snap back.
“You heard what Deleon claimed,” he counters. “Why are you ignoring it?”
“I’m not ignoring it. You won’t talk to me. Not without that immunity agreement. I get that.”
“I will never talk about my brother.” His voice is low, almost what you would call soft, and yet somehow it bands around the words and converts them to pure steel.
That steel cuts through the whiskey haze, but it doesn’t shut me down. “You killed him,” I say. “I know.”
“How would you know that, Pri?”
“It’s bleeding from you. You did it, but unlike what Deleon said, you didn’t enjoy it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you had to come to the cabin to deal with killing a teenager you didn’t even know. There’s no way you weren’t torn up over your own brother.”
His response is to take a long drag of the whiskey before he sets it aside. The next thing I know he’s laying me down, his big body pressed to mine. The delicious weight of him sends a surge of adrenaline pulsing through me. “You think you know me?”
My fingers curl on his cheek. “I know enough.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“I think you’re the one who’s wrong,” I counter.
He doesn’t ask what I mean. His lips lower, lingering above mine, teasing me with a kiss not yet realized. “This right now,” he says softly, “changes nothing.”
And now, I don’t ask what he means. I already know. His demons don’t just dance in his eyes, they dance with us, they mock us. They promise to end us.
And what he doesn’t understand is how little that matters to me. So much so that I can’t wait to meet them up close and pe
rsonal and tell them, and him, they don’t matter. But he does. So fast, so easily, Adrian matters to me.
Chapter Eight
ADRIAN
I tell myself to get up, not to kiss her, not to hold her this close. The more I take from her, of her, the more she’ll hate me for it later, and yet she’ll hate me no matter what. And hate is hate.
Now is now and the rest can’t be changed.
With a mental “fuck it” I decide now is all we’re guaranteed, and my mouth closes down on Pri’s. I lick deep, drinking her in, the sweet taste of whiskey, chocolate, and sin on my tongue. She moans and my cock thickens, my body a live charge of lust, and that’s what I want this to be: lust, just lust.
Her fingers dive into my hair, tangling there, heat coursing through my veins, and I tell myself that this draw to Pri isn’t just lust. It’s about the forbidden. She’s forbidden. We’re crossing lines and I’ve learned I do that too damn well. I like living on the edge far too much and too easily.
I’m playing a dangerous game and doing it with the wrong woman. Pri will soon know too much about me, see too much of me, and I tell myself that’s the draw. My desire for her is fed by a burn to live on the edge. I did it for so long that I don’t know how to stop. Or maybe the truth is far more complex. All I know is that I want her more than I remember wanting anyone, ever.
“Adrian,” she whispers, eager for me when she’s too smart to go down this path, and yet she does with me. What the hell is she thinking?
She pants into my mouth, and my teeth nip her bottom lip, punishing it while my tongue laves the offended skin. She tugs at my T-shirt and I pull it over my head, tossing it aside, kissing her again, hard and fast, unable to wait for more. I always want more of her.
My fingers slide under the white tee Pri wears, my white tee, that’s on her body. Warm, soft skin greets me and my hand finds her breast, teasing her nipple. She arches into my touch and I shove the cotton up just enough to bare her nipple, licking and sucking the pink puckered tip.
Her soft sounds of pleasure undo any resistance I have left as if I’ve ever had any with Pri. I drag the T-shirt over her head, my gaze raking over her perky naked breasts, my cock pressing against my zipper.
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