From Evil: Books 4-6

by Pam Godwin

  She didn’t just hear it. She felt it stretch and pull inside her.

  “Why now?” Swaying toward him, she burrowed into the warm den of his jacket. “What prompted this?”

  “You.” He leaned back and cuffed a strong hand around her neck. “Your eyes. It’s impossible to feel heartless when you look at me like I’m not.”

  “Tiago.” Her heart thumped heavily, catching in her throat.

  “Also…” He brushed his nose against hers. “I’m in love with you.”

  Every word was a razor, reopening the cuts on her body. Lancing pain shot beneath her skin, burning, aching, inflaming the wounds.

  His confession of love had never hurt before. So why did it hurt so much now?

  An inner voice begged her to ignore it, to hold onto her hatred and feed it with her need for freedom.

  But he was in her face, infiltrating her breaths, and staring down at her with a foreboding glint in his eyes.

  Dark and tempting, indecently gorgeous and sickeningly filthy in bed, he knew he could set her on fire with only the force of his will. He was always just one impulse away from nailing her against the wall and driving her to the sublime edge of pleasure and pain.

  His physique alone was a chiseled altar upon which any woman with a pulse would sacrifice her soul.

  But he would never touch another woman.

  He belonged to her.

  Mine.

  Well, maybe not that.

  But he was her protector. Her lover. There.

  If you truly love someone, you don’t let them go without a fight.

  Maybe she needed to be reminded of what she already had and trust that it was all she really needed.

  She just didn’t know how to separate the horrible things he’d done from those glimpses of goodness she’d seen in him.

  “You’re not heartless.” She sighed. “Just complicated.”

  “And selfish.” He swooped in and stole a greedy kiss from her lips. “Because Kate…” Another kiss. And another. “I know you can’t love me, but I’m not sorry I took you. I won’t apologize for it.” His mouth sealed over hers, devouring her gasp before he pulled back. “If it came down to it, I would take you again.”

  With that, he released her, leaving behind the hot imprint of his touch on her skin.

  As he turned toward the door, a thought tapped at the back of her mind, something she’d been meaning to ask him.

  “Tiago?” When he glanced back, she raised her chin. “While we were holed up in the penthouse for a month, I know you were making plans.”

  “Go on.” He shifted to face her and clasped his hands behind his back.

  “My friends know where I’m at now?”

  “Yes.” A muscle bounced in his jaw.

  “I assume some of your planning involved keeping them out of Caracas?” She stepped toward him, searching his unreadable expression. “Have they tried to enter the city or make contact?”

  “Not yet.”

  Because of her phone conversation with Liv? She’d told them not to come. “Can I just call them and see—?”

  “No. Stop asking.”

  Same answer he’d given her the last hundred times she asked to contact them.

  “If Matias Restrepo comes for you…” He grasped her hand and pulled her into his space. “It won’t end well for him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I negotiated a deal with the President.”

  “What? The President of…?”

  “Venezuela. His armed forces will not allow Restrepo to cross the Venezuela-Colombia border.”

  Her stomach sank. “What did you have to offer in exchange for that deal?”

  “Nothing as valuable as you.”

  “You’re evading the question.”

  “For now.” He gripped the door handle and paused. “I accepted an invitation to one of his dinner parties. It’s a formal affair this weekend. You’re going with me.”

  “You want me to go to the President of Venezuela’s party?” She gulped, seized by panic. “Will I be there as your captive? Your whore? Your fake guard?”

  “You’ll be there as mine.”

  Her growl came out as a choke. “I need to understand the landscape. Will you have enemies in attendance? Will I be expected to hold conversations? I don’t know the language, and I definitely need a gun or something to—”

  “If I asked any other woman to accompany me to a Presidential dinner, her first and only question would be what to wear.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about that. I’m more concerned about—”

  He captured her mouth in a demanding kiss and smiled against her lips. “I’ll take care of the dress.”

  CHAPTER 28

  The dress encased Kate’s body like liquid gold, as if each shimmering thread had been cut and woven in veneration of the female form. Fashion never meant one iota to her, but holy shit, this gown was empowering.

  She paced to the full-length mirror in the master bathroom, nervously fluffing her long hair. She should’ve pinned it up or curled it or something, but the girly stuff was beyond her expertise.

  Anchoring a hand on her hip, she extended a leg through the slit of the dress and gave herself a final once-over.

  Her makeup was modest. A little mascara. A glide of lip gloss. But the gown and the heels and God, the whole look… She’d never felt so glamorous.

  The satiny material clung to her slight curves from her chest to the floor. The cut up one side reached high on her thigh, enabling normal strides when she walked.

  The slit fell along the leg that bore his artwork. No doubt, intentional. With each step, the fading pink welts of rope and petals peeked through the opening of the floor-length skirt.

  Tiny shoulder straps held the top in place, and the deep scoop between her breasts exposed the length of her breastbone.

  The gown and gold stilettos had been waiting for her in the bathroom when she exited the shower. No bra or panties. Not that she could’ve worn anything beneath the unforgiving material.

  At first, she thought the gold color had been selected to match her hair. But it was much darker, more bronze-ish. Like the metallic hues in Tiago’s brown eyes.

  She hadn’t seen him yet. Hadn’t worked up the courage to step out of the bathroom.

  Stop stalling.

  Adjusting a shoulder strap, she drew in a calming breath and opened the door.

  Across the room, he sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in a jet-black tuxedo. Head down, he wrestled with a cuff link, his face pinched in concentration.

  “I can do that for you.” She strode toward him, stepping carefully in the skyscraper heels, and slowed at the lift of his head.

  He straightened. His mouth parted, and his eyes went from wide and stunned to heated and wolfish as he ate her up from head to toe. He made a few more passes, slower each time, lingering on the outline of the nipple piercings beneath the satin.

  The heady caress of his gaze touched her everywhere, stroking, tingling, his breaths growing shallow and hungry.

  She swallowed back a whimper. Swear to God, if he stared at her much longer, she could have an orgasm. Just from the potency in his eyes.

  The tuxedo wasn’t helping. Sweet hell, the man wore the fuck out of tailored threads.

  The black trousers and white collared shirt fit his hard body with mouthwatering precision. The dinner jacket cut a crisp outline across his broad shoulders. A gold square, the color of her gown, peeked out of the front pocket, and a black bow tie sat at the base of his tanned neck.

  Every hair on his head fell together in unruly perfection. His cleanly shaved jaw showed off all his square angles and outrageously handsome Latino features.

  Looking at him was a treacherous trap. He was too attractive, too addictive to take in all at once.

  Desperate to break his spell, she focused on her feet and approached the bed. “Need help with the cuff links?”

  “You’re blindingly beautiful.” A
fingertip skimmed along her collarbone, teased the pocket of her throat, and dipped to follow the line of her breastbone. “I can’t think straight.”

  “I could say the same thing.” She peeked at his face, and if she thought she felt pretty before, her self-appraisal didn’t hold a candle to the awe-stricken approval shimmering in his eyes.

  His hand shifted to cup her breast, a possessive hold that turned wickedly mischievous as he flicked a thumb against the piercing.

  Heat flashed through her, and she stepped back. “Let me see your sleeves.”

  He held out the cuff links and offered his wrists. “I need to be inside you.”

  “Too bad.” She attached the gold links through the buttonholes.

  Despite her resolve, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at his lap.

  The outline of his cock formed an impressively long, rigid bulge that lay trapped against his thigh. Harder than hard, he looked ready to tear through the tuxedo pants.

  A molten fever gathered between her legs, and her nipples tightened, the unbidden reaction further stimulated by the barbells.

  She needed to stop melting all over the place and focus. He hadn’t answered any of her questions about what to expect tonight. She didn’t know what she would be walking into or how to conduct herself.

  “Aren’t we supposed to be there at seven?” She secured the last cuff link and sidled out of his reach.

  “We’re going to be late.”

  “If we leave now—”

  A rough hand grabbed her arm, wrenching her into the space between his knees. “I’m going to fuck you.”

  Flames swept around them, from his gaze burning into hers, his fingers trailing heat up her arm, and the fire igniting inside her.

  His other hand slipped through the slit of her gown and sank between her thighs, finding her embarrassingly wet.

  “Fuck.” He gripped her waist, dropped his forehead against her stomach, and twisted two fingers inside her. “Fucking drenched. Dripping for a cock.”

  “We’re not doing this.” She teetered in the heels and caught his shoulder for balance. “We’re already dressed, and I’m too nervous about the dinner.”

  “I’ll take the edge off.” He thrust his hand, fingering her harder, deeper, until the line between yes and no blurred, and her thighs clenched together. “Sit on my cock, Kate.”

  “Stop.” Throbbing, aching, and growing wetter, her body betrayed her. “I don’t want to ruin the dress or take it off. It took me forever to make everything look just right. And you’re wearing black. The smallest stain will glow like a spotlight. Do you really want to introduce me to the President with come stains on your pants? God, I’m already sweating, and you’re making it—”

  “Hey, Kate.” His fingers slipped to her inner thigh and clenched, his voice chillingly quiet. Deadly serious. “Reach into my pants, pull out my cock, and fucking sit on it.”

  Her gaze dropped to the captivating curves of his bossy mouth, lingering there before lifting to his eyes, to the swirls of brown glowing in the lamplight.

  A tremor erupted low and hot in her belly.

  The way he looked at her, the piercing glare that cut right through those dark lashes, grabbed her deeply and completely.

  She shivered with goosebumps in her heartbeat.

  What was it about this man? This scary, stubborn, rude, horribly sexy man? He tied her up in knots, sometimes literally, and she wanted it.

  She really did.

  She fucking ached for him.

  “You want me to fuck you?” she asked quietly.

  “That’s what I said.”

  The fact that they were discussing it instead of doing it gave her pause. Usually, he skipped the conversation and went right to stripping her clothes and working over her body.

  Something had changed.

  He’d apologized for raping her. Did that mean it wouldn’t happen again?

  She yanked her arm out of his grip and backed away, testing his sincerity.

  He remained seated, his lips twisted in frustration and anger as he tracked her retreat to the door.

  When she reached the hallway, her pulse pounded, and her muscles tensed, braced for him to chase her.

  But he didn’t. He slowly lowered to his back and rested an arm over his eyes, breathing heavily.

  “You’re not going to force me?” She clutched the doorframe.

  “I’m trying, Kate.” He adjusted the rigid length of his cock. “Go on. I’ll be out in a second.”

  She stepped into the hall, squinting at him.

  He would be fine. It was just an erection, and it was good for him to be denied.

  Except she was denying herself.

  Her need for him dripped and pulsed between her legs. What was the point in opposing something she wanted? Just to be stubborn?

  Maybe this was a sick game of reverse psychology? But why would he bother with a mind fuck when he could just pin her down and fuck her like all the other times?

  This wasn’t a game.

  He regretted forcing her, and she felt that at gut level.

  They were already late, and the truth was she couldn’t leave him like this. It went against every instinct inside her.

  Fuck it.

  She strode into the bedroom and shut the door. “I feel like the flakiest woman in existence.”

  He raised his head and lifted to his elbows, his gaze following her approach, pupils flaring.

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Thank, fuck,” he growled.

  “But I want this on my terms.” She glided her hands along the back of the gown, trying to locate the invisible zipper.

  “What are your terms?”

  “I get to be in control.” Her skin heated, and her body bloomed into a galloping throb, fortifying her decision. “Can you handle that?”

  “I don’t know.” He watched her hunt for the zipper and gripped his dick through the trousers. “Leave on the dress.”

  After a few more seconds of searching, she gave up and reached for the floor-length hem.

  There was a lot of material to collect, and as she gathered it up her legs, his hands ghosted up the backs of her thighs, caressing, urging her to move faster.

  Once the dress was ruched around her waist, he held it in place while she crawled over him and opened his fly.

  He lifted his hips as she dragged the pants and briefs to his knees. His cock jutted upward, beautifully shaped and leaking a clear bead of moisture from the slit.

  She wanted to taste it, ride it, and come all over it. Maybe that was wrong for someone in her situation. Maybe it was a psychological condition. But it didn’t change how she felt.

  “Don’t just stare at it.” He dug his fingers into her thigh.

  She clutched him, enclosing both hands around the thick, turgid, burning hot length.

  A groan rumbled in his chest, his thighs flexing as he pushed himself into the squeeze of her fists.

  “Fuck, Kate.” His hand enclosed hers, tightening her fingers the way he liked it. “Goddamn, I need you. Come here.”

  “Stop bossing.” She inched up his body and straddled his hips, careful not to mess up his tuxedo. “We’re going to do this quick. I’m worried about our clothing and—”

  “Shut up, and put me inside you.” His hand guided her fingers up and down his cock, angling his hardness to fit at her entrance.

  She knocked his arm away and took over, stirring his plump crown through her folds, readying her body, making herself wetter, hungrier.

  His fingers joined in, stroking her pussy and rubbing her arousal over the head of his cock.

  What now? She’d never done this before. What if she bent his dick when she sat on it?

  “You’re ready.” His voice cracked, his bedroom eyes reading the expression on her face. “Just slide down. You won’t hurt me.”

  He laced their fingers together, and his other hand went to her waist, pushing down with impatience.

  “
I’ve got this.” She braced herself on the twitching bricks of his stomach. “Relax.”

  His grip loosened on her waist, and she lowered her body, taking him in inch by hard inch. His jaw stiffened, and the cords in his neck strained taut as he groaned deep and long in the back of his throat.

  “Holy fuck, Kate. So good.” He kicked his hips, thrusting to get deeper. “Mierda, you feel sinful.”

  “Stop moving.” She pressed a hand on his thigh beneath her, trying to calm his need to dominate. “Let me do this.”

  “Then do it. Fuck me.”

  Holding their entwined fingers against her midsection, she flattened her other hand on his abs and rocked her hips.

  Each movement wrenched a groan from him. When she lifted and lowered, sliding him in and out in languid rolls and undulations, he started to pant.

  His hungry responses spurred her faster, harder, until their gasps became one. She threw her head back and writhed on him, losing herself in the pleasure, until his fingers closed around her nipple piercing and painfully tugged.

  “Eyes on me.” His accent rolled over her, as thick as the Venezuelan humidity.

  She met his gaze, and in one look, he obliterated everything between them. There was no air, no fear, no words.

  It was a monumental moment. She was on top of him, controlling the pace and rhythm, fucking him into the bed. Something he’d never allowed anyone else to do and would probably never allow again. It was all there in his eyes, drowning her in the gravity of it.

  “Give me your mouth.” He caught her neck and yanked her to him.

  She fumbled around his tuxedo coat until her arms found a safe place to land. Then she leaned up, her chest flush with his, and kissed him.

  He let her take a few gentle licks before he annihilated her easy pace with his aggressive, sinful tongue.

  That tongue was a weapon, wielded by a wicked, kinky, eternally horny man, who was wrinkling the hell out of his formal wear and thrusting his hips like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  No, that wasn’t true.

  In a disturbing, deeply moving way, he cared about her. She felt it in the massage of his fingers on her thigh, heard it in the unbridled rush of his breaths, and saw it in the beautiful, extraordinarily thoughtful design he’d carved into her skin.