Dude. You’ve got it bad.
And it was only getting worse.
“I’ll be there first thing in the morning,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended.
“Morning? Tell me you’re kidding.” The pout was replaced by a growl. “I have no intention of taking the evening off. I need to pay a visit to AIR headquarters to discuss the car chase and pump Agent Gutierrez for information.”
The words pump Agent Gutierrez hit him the wrong way, and he gripped the steering wheel with so much force he cracked the metal. “Does Michael have another boat?”
“Yeah, but if I take it, I’ll leave him stranded.”
“I seriously doubt that. He’s a plan B, C, and D man. Take the boat.”
She sighed. “You’re right.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“Ha, ha.”
“So listen. Tonight I have to rise from the dead. I’ll sneak over to your house as soon as it’s done.”
A sharp intake of breath. “So . . . you’re ending things with Pagan?”
“Yes. It’ll be done by midnight.”
Utter silence.
Man, he wished he could read Evie better, but when she wanted to be, she was a master at disguising her reactions. And without her nearby, he couldn’t sense her emotions.
Funny, but the empathic ability he’d once despised was now one of his most beloved and well used.
“Just so you know,” he added, “I’m not going to sleep with her.” He didn’t owe Evie the assurance; they weren’t dating and had made no promises to each other—and, damn it all, they couldn’t be together.
None of that stopped him, however.
“I didn’t ask, did I?” There was no emotion in her tone. “Besides, sleeping with her before and/or after you’ve broken her heart would be a total douche move.”
His jaw clenched. “Look, until you, I always told her before I was going to do something with someone else. Not why, just that it was going to happen. She never minded, and that’s part of the reason I stayed with her. If it weren’t for the job, I would have been faithful. I want to be faithful.”
Again silence.
He wanted her to see him, the real him, he realized. And he wanted her to tell him she thought better of him. Even though he sometimes didn’t think better of himself.
“Do you know what it’s like to seduce someone you’re not attracted to?” he gritted. “Or worse, someone you despise? Do you know what it’s like to hear their cries of pleasure and wish you were hearing cries of pain? Do you know how dirty something like that can make a person feel? Do you?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Do you know what it’s like to have sex with someone you know you’re going to have to kill? Or to know just how badly your actions are going to hurt someone you care about?”
“Blue—”
“Would you mind if I did sleep with her?” he snapped. He didn’t want her to see him now. Some part of him just wanted blood.
Another sharp intake of breath. Then, very softly, she said, “Yes. I would mind. Just . . . try to end it by eleven, yeah. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Waiting for you.
What did that mean?
He knew what he wanted it to mean. Because as much as he wanted blood, he still wanted her. If she’d let him, he’d take her and deal with the consequences.
“I’ll hurry,” he said.
The piece in his ear shut off, spilling static.
* * *
Blue called Pagan from the road and told her he would come by her place around ten for a chat-up, as Evie would say, then hung up when she rapid-fired questions at him.
Non-man-whore move: he wasn’t going to destroy her dreams and aspirations over the phone.
Besides, there was nothing he could tell her that would make her feel better about what was about to happen.
He stopped at Evie’s safe house to grab the laptop and Lucky Horn flash drive, then went home to get his favorite SUV and let his neighbors know he was back in business.
Finally the moment of truth arrived.
He checked the perimeter of Pagan’s house for any surveillance equipment—found none—and made his way to the door. She answered before he had a chance to knock, and a hard fist of guilt pummeled him. She wore a slinky red dress that hugged her voluminous curves, and her blond hair framed her perfectly made-up face. She’d gotten dolled up for him.
She was beautiful and stacked and everything he’d once thought he wanted—but nothing he truly did. Seemed he had a taste for a certain slender, dark-haired, doe-eyed girl and only she would do.
I’m sorry, Michael.
I’ll be waiting for you, Evie had said.
Be naked, he should have told her.
Pagan motioned him inside, and as he passed her she said, “Where have you been? Why didn’t you call? Who were you with? I have a right to know!”
He turned to face her, hating himself more than ever. Just get it over with. Tone gentle, he said, “I’m sorry, Pagan, but this isn’t working for me.”
Shock registered a moment before a nervous laugh slipped from her. “I know I’m acting like a witch right now. I’ve been worried about you, that’s all. But you’re here now, so I can relax. Let’s have a drink and we can discuss something else.”
Witch? Evie would have shot him in the face and called him a whore. And as much as he always despised when she used the word, he kind of preferred that kind of response to this. Acceptance.
Pagan took one of his hands and urged him forward. He planted his heels and clasped her other hand, holding her in place.
“You’re asking questions you have every right to ask,” he said, “and if I was a good man, I’d answer them. But I’m not, and I’m sorry about that, too. You deserved better than I gave you and you deserve better than you’re getting.”
Paling, she released him to twist the silk of her dress. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying . . . we’re over. I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“You’re serious,” she gasped out.
“I am.”
“But . . . but . . . is there someone else?”
He gave her the hard truth. “Yes.” He owed her that much at least.
She threw herself at him and gripped his shirt, clinging. “Who is she?”
“Does it matter?”
“Tell me. Tell me right now. Is there more than one?”
“Pagan. Don’t do this to yourself.”
A moment passed, then two, and all she did was breathe heavily. “You’re right. I don’t care who she is.” Her hand trembled as she hooked a lock of hair behind her ear, her gaze never leaving him. “Get her, or them, out of your system. I don’t mind. Then come back to me.”
He pried her fingers from his T-shirt and kissed her knuckles. As tenderly as he was able, he said, “No, Pagan. This is good-bye between us.”
“But . . . but . . .” Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “Blue. Don’t do this. Please.”
Maybe he should have done to her what he’d done to Noelle Tremain, and given her a reason to break things off with him. That way he could leave her with her heart intact.
No, he thought next. The guilt of what he’d done to Noelle still haunted him. This was the better way. The honest way.
The right way.
Sometimes the truth could tear a person apart piece by piece, but at least the pieces could be welded back together, stronger than before. With lies, the pieces went up in flames before they ever hit the ground, and there was nothing left to patch.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to change my mind about this. And, Pagan? You should be happy that I won’t. You’re far better off without me. You want a family. I don’t.”
“But I don’t have to have a family,” she rushed out. “Besides, I don’t even want one. Not without you.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t change your heart’s desires for me or any man.”
She presse
d on. “Take some time to think about this. It’s late, and you’ve been gone, so you’re probably tired right now. Yes. You’re tired, that’s all. Get some sleep and we’ll talk again.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Yes. You will. You must.”
He tried again. “You’re a beautiful, passionate woman, and someday a man will come along and put you first. But that man isn’t me.”
“I don’t have to be first. I just want to be with you. Please, Blue. I love you. Love you so much.”
He’d never considered the fact that she might actually love him. He wouldn’t have stayed with her this long if he had. “You’ll get over me,” he said softly. “One day you might even thank me for this.” Then he stalked out of the house, feeling like a total tool because the breakup was over—and all he wanted to do was go to Evie.
Twelve
B LUE BROKE SPEED RECORDS to get to Evie’s house, hid his car, and swiftly snuck his way to her back porch, out of sight of her neighbors. Then he pounded on the door with enough force to bend the entire structure.
For the first time in their acquaintance, he was single.
A minute passed. Two. She didn’t answer.
He knocked harder, leaving an indentation. If she wasn’t here . . .
If she’d changed her mind . . .
He could have disarmed her system—again—but he didn’t want to give up his advantage or add to the bill he still hadn’t paid. She hadn’t yet realized that no matter what improvements she made, she would never be able to keep him out. His power could fry the wires in mere seconds.
Finally, she opened the door. His heart kicked into an uncontrollable rhythm. Unlike Pagan, she hadn’t dressed to please him. She wore a tank top and shorts, and she wore them well, her slender body on perfect display. Her hair was loose. Fistable. Her eyes were unreadable, but that was okay, because he could feel the emotion pulsing from her.
White-hot, consuming desire.
His own, always there, roared to the surface.
“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” she muttered. “For what I’ve said throughout the years. For what I’ve called you. I was wrong and I was cruel. I was a judgmental bitch, just like you called me. And I know these words aren’t good enough. I know I owe you so much more, and I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me.”
Something clenched in his chest. She saw him. In that moment he realized he’d never stopped hoping for this. “Princess, I’ve done bad things. I get why you said what you said. Yes, I can forgive you.”
Relief bathed her expression. “Thank you.”
He nodded.
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “You did it, then,” she said. “You ended things with Pagan.” It wasn’t a question.
He answered anyway. “Yes.”
“Good.” She had her arms wrapped around his neck a second later, her lips mashed against his, her tongue thrusting deep into his mouth, demanding a response. He lifted her off her feet, his hands firm on her ass to hold her against him. Now that he had her, he wasn’t letting her go.
Gentle. You’ll break her.
He stepped deeper into the—kitchen, he noted—and kicked the door closed, then walked to the wall and slammed her against it. Screw gentleness. The kiss became a wild thing, so down and dirty he couldn’t stop the little growls rising from his throat, his mouth pressing harder, insisting on more from her. Everything. All.
“Any idea . . . how good . . . you taste?” he asked between sucking and nipping at her.
“Don’t talk. You’ll ruin our truce.”
His chuckle was dark and hungry.
His hands tangled in her hair, such silky, soft hair, and he fisted the strands the way he’d always wanted. He angled her head for better access, needing more, desperate for more. He was like a starving man at a buffet, taking, taking more, taking all that he could get, doing to her mouth what he wanted to do to her body. Possessing. Branding.
“You wet for me, baby?”
“Soaking.” She jerked at his shirt even as she arched her hips forward, back, rubbing her core up and down on his erection, creating the most delicious kind of friction.
He removed her tank with a single tug. Her nipples poked through the thin fabric of her bra, and abraded his chest. He was so desperate for her, so hard. And his power was tugging at its leash. Beside him, several pots and pans floated in the air.
“I’m going to play with you for hours,” he rasped. He wanted to tongue her nipples while his fingers thrust into her, pushing her over the edge once, twice. He wanted his mouth to descend and devour, and push her over a third time. Then . . . finally, then . . . he wanted to lift up and slam home.
“Don’t bother,” she said, biting his bottom lip. “Just do it.”
The words startled him, and he frowned. No foreplay? “Why the hurry? You got somewhere to be?”
She licked her way across his jaw, then delved lower to suck on his neck. “Just want to . . . reach the . . . finish line.”
Finish line? A quick in and out? So they could both get off, and the wanting could stop? So they could both walk away and forget it happened?
She didn’t want to want him, did she.
Maybe he’d been wrong before. Maybe she didn’t see him or like him, even in the smallest way. Because, despite her apology, she definitely didn’t respect him.
Anger mixed with his arousal.
No sex, then. Not yet.
Not ever—Michael’s daughter!
Yeah, but that was starting to matter less and less. Right now, it was her attitude he couldn’t get past. But he had to take something from her. Otherwise he’d have a power surge.
Sure. That’s why.
He scooted her higher up the wall, nuzzled her bra aside with his chin, and sucked on a pretty pink nipple. A broken groan left her. He tunneled a hand under her shorts, palmed the very heat of her, thrilling when she shouted with relief and pleasure.
“Yes!” The back of her head hit the wall. “Going to . . . oh, so close already . . .”
So beautiful. So mine.
“Grip me,” he commanded.
Her eyelids flipped open, and passion-drugged eyes stared at him. “What? No. You’ll come.”
That was the point. “Do it.”
“But—”
“Do it or I’ll remove my fingers from between your legs. Tonight, we’re going to make each other happy with a hand job. But that’s as far as we’re going to go.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so. If you’ve got a problem with that, we can stop right now.”
Her gaze fumed as she did as he’d commanded. She would never know how thankful he was for her capitulation—or how close he’d come to begging. She reached past the waist of his pants to clasp his length, and hell. With that one touch, she almost unmanned him.
“You’re so big,” she breathed. “Are you sure you don’t want to put it in me?” She nibbled on his earlobe. “I think I’d come with the first thrust.”
Killing me. “Lick first,” he commanded.
She licked his ear.
“Not there.”
Understanding, she pouted for a moment, then removed her hand. He swallowed a moan as she licked her palm. Then, while her skin was wet, she clasped him again. The moist heat provided a smooth glide.
“That’s not good enough,” he said. He took her hand, forced it under her panties, between her legs, and let her rich wetness coat her skin. Then he returned her grip to his shaft.
“Harder,” he said, “and I’ll give you a finger.”
She squeezed, slowly pumping her hand up and down. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure. This wasn’t what she’d wanted, but she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself from enjoying it, he noted with pride.
And when her clasp tightened, he sucked in a breath, doing as he’d promised and sliding one finger deep inside her. And, oh, he almost wished he hadn’t. She was tight,
hot, and soaking, just as she’d promised. He had to get in her soon.
“Faster, baby,” he instructed, “and you’ll get another.”
Her speed increased, enough to wring a deeper moan out of him. So he gave her a second finger, stretching her. How long since she’d had sex? As tight as she was, he’d have to guess years. The idea filled him with a heady sense of possession, and he decided to reward her, working his thumb in a circular pattern at her apex.
“Blue!”
“You feel so good. When I finally get inside you, I’m going to pound so hard, take so much, you’ll swear you’re dying. Later, you’ll beg me to pound even harder, to take more.”
The dirty talk sent her over the edge. Her broken cry echoed as her inner walls clutched around him, again and again, holding him close and wringing every drop of pleasure she could from him.
Knowing she’d climaxed sent a white-hot lance up his shaft, and he exploded in a rush, pumping into her grip until the last of his shudders faded.
It took him several long minutes to come down from the high, and when he did, he heard her breakfast table crashing to the floor, followed by the pots and pans. He removed his hand from her—maybe the most difficult thing he’d ever done.
No. Wait. Not tasting the moisture on his fingers was the most difficult. But if he did it, if he gave in to the craving, he would next be on her. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.
He bent down and grabbed his shirt, then used the material to clean her hand. “One day soon,” he said, “after we’ve both had a little time to think, we’re going to talk.”
She eyed him warily. “And what will our topic of conversation be?”
“Expectations.”
* * *
A roommate.
A single, sexy male roommate.
A single, sexy male roommate who’d just given her an earth-shattering orgasm.
The thoughts rolled through Evie’s mind, unstoppable. She’d attacked Blue the moment she’d found out he was single. He’d been just as frantic to be with her . . . but he hadn’t wanted sex from her. Just a hand job.
She wasn’t sure what to think about that. Or the fact that he wanted to talk about expectations.
What kind of expectations? His? Hers?
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