“Stop. Who? Tell me who first.” He held out a hand, like he was keeping the bogeyman away.
She swallowed. Pulled the shirt free, let it drop behind her. Her bra was gray silk with white lace, not the most enticing bra around but her cup runneth over, so why wasn’t he looking?
Maybe he isn’t a breast guy.
Maybe he’d seen so many pairs over the centuries that he was indifferent or she was just too far down the line of nice chests that he couldn’t be bothered to take a peek. Her stomach hit the floor and she wanted to puke.
She hadn’t been able to look away, could only think of touching him when he undressed before her, and here she was undressing, the situation reversed and he was totally unmoved.
She felt herself blushing.
He closed his eyes. “Give me the name.”
“You won’t do it. This was stupid.”
“Again, you prove how little you know of me. Tell me who,” he commanded.
“Marion.” She rushed in, speaking before he could. “You said you want me, lust after me, talk about how you’d do anything for me. That’s what I want. I want her dead.”
His eyes were still closed. One hand fisted at his side, showing each muscle definitively. The other went behind his head, buried in his hair as he hauled in a breath.
“I need her. Choose something else.” He looked at the ceiling, opening his eyes but not looking at her.
“No. I want that bitch dead.” Just saying it felt right. Like sunshine after rain.
He covered his face with both hands, talking to her through his hands. “I need Rachel to get to the Fey. My hold upon her is Marion. Choose anything else.”
Her chest hurt. All his words and they meant nothing. Lucas talked a good game, but when she made a demand, he never gave her what she wanted. She’d almost died tonight because of Marion. She’d murdered Jack’s parents.
Killing Marion would give her peace. Like he couldn’t come up with some other way to ensure Rachel’s loyalty. She’d looked pretty damned loyal when her skin was fried off and she licked his foot.
Lucas wasn’t good, he was the monster who’d sanctioned Marion’s killings for years.
She pushed him hard. He moved backwards and she shoved again, as hard as she could. His head snapped down, staring at her chest, her shoulders, her stomach. Now he looks.
His look was so dark and possessive….Oops. Okay, he does want me. “No. Marion. Kill her. Rachel doesn’t need to know. The threat works whether she’s dead or alive.”
His hands raised to her bare upper arms, settling on them lightly, thumbs moving slowly over her flesh. He raised gooseflesh on her skin, the tiny contact making her clench her thighs in need. His gaze was fixed on her chest and neck. Then the line of her shoulder where it connected to her neck.
His voice was hoarse, “And what? I say yes, kill her and you…give yourself to me once? For a night? Then go back to him?” It was like he couldn’t say Jack’s name, like jealousy would choke the letters in his lungs.
Good.
She nodded jerkily, a lump in her throat.
His eyes finally met hers. “I’m afraid not.”
Her heart plummeted. He rejected me.
“That is all, then? I say no to that and now you take away the chance to be in your bed?” He swore in a language she didn’t understand and walked away from her, opening a closet door and disappearing inside. Val grabbed her shirt and put it on, buttoning it with shaking fingers.
Why was she even so upset? Because Marion was still alive? Because she’d wanted Marion’s death for Jack and hadn’t gotten it? Yeah, that worked.
Good reason.
But there were more. It was like every kiss, every caress, every touch had been a lie. She had been fascinated by him from the moment she met him. And he wanted her because she was an empath, a novelty. He wanted sex and he wanted her to initiate it.
She looked up at him as he came out and blinked hard, surprised to find she’d been on the verge of crying. How could she be so conflicted about him? So sure of his desire one moment and then ignorant the next?
He came towards her and she felt exposed and stupid. Like a child who’d tried to play grown up in her mommy’s clothes and tripped. His hands cupped her face and he leaned down, kissing her very gently on the lips.
“After the Fey, ask me again. I swear to you that you can have her then. Even...Jack can kill her. If that is what you want. But not now.”
She jerked away from him. “Bullshit. Don’t lie to me. Don’t give me words. Give me actions. I feel like everything you’ve told me was a lie. Everything you’ve done for me has been at your convenience and cost you nothing.”
He followed her, stalking her into the wall. Finally, a display of emotion.
We’ve been here before.
His accent was thick, the words guttural, “I will give you more words and you will listen to them. You heed me well, my Valkyrie, I will take you home now and you will come back to me. And when you do this changes. You will be mine. You will be in my bed and you will give in to me. Let there be no misunderstandings between us. You talk of cost and say it has cost me nothing.” He looked away from her, to the wall and then back, like he’d fortified himself for his next words. He opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped. Swallowed.
Finally at a loss for words?
He pulled her to him and she felt them disappear, the cold wind swirling around her as he took her back to her hotel room in Italy. He was angry at her now, just as ready to be rid of her as she was of him. Then they were in her room.
Lucas straightened, like he was on the alert.
What? Is someone here?
She was going to turn, see what he saw but he cupped her face in his, leaned down to kiss her. “One last kiss until next time. And next time…we make it to the bed.”
His words shivered over her, slightly loud in her ears, like he wanted to make sure she really heard him. His lips touched hers. Soft and still warm from the shower opening over her mouth and she leaned into him, stood on tiptoes and wiggled her hips closer to his, felt his erection against her stomach and tried to press closer. Yes, this was what she’d wanted.
His tongue slid against hers, the taste of him, the magic of his touch making every argument and problem fade away. Only desire was left. “I need you,” she gasped out and for the briefest moment he paused, his lips sliding down her throat.
“Your timing is horrific,” he said, panting the words out as he placed kisses all over the column of her throat.
She moaned, his hands skating down her back, gripping her buttocks and raising her, pressing his cock against her harder. She cried out and he caught the noise in his mouth like he was going to drink it down.
And then he pulled back, coming up for air like a fish out of water, blinking then looking especially pleased with himself.
Smug bastard.
He touched her cheek with the back of his hand then stroked her neck with his index finger, pausing just over her pulse, tapping her jugular lightly. And it felt like a promise, like he was saying without words— next time I’ll bite you here.
Why the hell was he doing that? And what did he mean about the bed? She was confused, but he vanished before she could ask him what the tap was about.
Her hotel room was just as she had left it. The magazine Marion had thrown at the wall still on the ground.
As soon as he was gone her room felt bigger.
She needed another shower. Val stripped off her coat and turned towards the bathroom, only to stop when she saw a lean figure leaning against the door-jam; arms folded, expression thunderous. His eyes were black, his face gaunt as though he'd been up all night waiting for her.
“Jack.”
Love is Darkness (A Valerie Dearborn Novel) Page 29
