by Eva Charles
I will myself to stay calm and let my training take over.
“Use your words, De-li-lah.” He emphasizes each syllable, drawing it out with a mocking twang.
It’s not easy, but I force my body to relax against his, brushing my backside casually against his cock to lure him into complacency. When his mouth grazes my outer ear, I catch the low rumble in his throat, and lift my leg, building momentum to slam a heel into the top of his foot. I want him to recoil from the unexpected pain and drop his hold, but Gray senses the attack and twists me around, still holding my neck firmly.
“If you ever try something like that again,” he murmurs, lowering his forehead to mine, “you’ll be a snot-covered mess before I show you an ounce of mercy.”
The combination of the harsh words and the low, silky baritone he uses to deliver the threat takes my breath away. Only a man in complete control lowers his voice like that. Scores of women are attracted to Gray’s gorgeous face and fat wallet, but it’s his unrepentant brashness and cool demeanor that’s always called to me.
“You need to learn to behave,” he chides, “and I’m going to teach you.” His eyes fall to my nipples poking through the thin fabric. He cups my breast lightly and skims his thumb over a tight furl with the patience of a man who has nothing better to tend to and nowhere else to be.
When I’m lulled by the gentle sensation, he adds some light pressure to my throat, his fingertips on the carotid artery. It’s just a few seconds, but enough to cloud my vision with black spots dotting the edges. “I can make the lessons as difficult or as easy as you wish. That part is completely in your control.”
“Why do you want to hurt me?” My voice is shaky, laying bare my fears. While I’m cursing myself for the weakness, I see a glimmer of compassion in his striking blue eyes. But like a sleight of hand, it’s fleeting and I can’t be sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks. I can’t be sure of anything when it comes to him.
“I have no reason to hurt you. None.”
He drops his hand, although I wasn’t talking about his hold on my throat. It’s the bullying that I hate.
“But don’t give me one,” he adds, “because I won’t hesitate to destroy you if necessary. The photo was a warning. The image is formatted in a way they’ll never be able to enhance. You’re safe. This time. But don’t push me, Delilah.”
My heart is pounding, and even though he’s taken his thumb off my airway, I’m still using my breath judiciously.
“Get dressed. As much as I enjoy watching your nipples respond to my voice, we have business to discuss, and you’re too much of a distraction in that flimsy robe.”
He glides two long fingers down my throat, over the hollow, and between my breasts, sliding deep into the vee of the robe that has fallen open. “Are you wet for me?”
My brain is in a fog, and I couldn’t answer him if I wanted to.
“Put some clothes on,” he demands softly, although his eyes are smoldering and he doesn’t look at all like he wants me dressed. And right now, I’m not entirely sure I want to be dressed.
“Be quick about it,” he warns, before pulling his hand away and striding out of the bedroom, leaving me standing there with my mouth agape and my flesh tingling.
6
Delilah
Despite Gray’s warning, I take a few extra minutes to dress, trying to right my head before dealing with him. My body and brain are sparring, and any survival skills I might have possessed are a bloody casualty of the battle.
When I get to the kitchen, Gray’s leaning against the counter, eating the last slice of blueberry pie like he owns the damn place. His eyes rake over my body deliberately as he takes the final bite. It’s bold and arousing. But unlike the satin robe, the baggy sweatpants and oversized hoodie that belonged to Kyle hide all my interested parts—the ones that haven’t gotten the message that sex with Gray Wilder is a very bad idea.
His gaze pauses on the FBI logo on the sweatshirt, regarding it carefully, but he says nothing.
“Surprised you didn’t help yourself to some ice cream to go along with that pie.”
“Not a fan of ice cream with pie. Makes the crust soggy.”
“I’m not interested in your food eccentricities. But I’m very interested in knowing how you followed me the other night without being detected, and then restrained me so effectively—in the way only a trained professional could do.” I square my shoulders, holding my head high and my gaze steady. “I’m not discussing anything else with you until I have answers to those questions.” I plant my feet firmly, bracing for an attack that doesn’t come.
“I’m better trained than you are, bigger and stronger.” His cunning eyes drill into me while he speaks, telling me nothing. “It’s that simple.”
“No. You are—”
“A pretty-boy billionaire who runs a sex club?”
Yes. “Clearly there’s more to you than that.”
“Clearly.” His mouth quirks at the edges, and I’d like to slap the smirk off his pretty-boy face. “Where do you keep the whiskey?”
“This isn’t a social call. I didn’t invite you here, and you already ate my pie. You’re not drinkin’ my whiskey too.”
“The whiskey is for you. You need to settle your nerves.”
“My nerves don’t need settling.” I search his face, hoping to find a clue about what he’s up to, but there’s nothing to see. Nothing but a day’s worth of stubble and a tiny cleft in his strong chin. “What do you want from me?”
“I’m in need of some arm candy. It would be a huge plus if that arm candy was multilingual and knew how to use a weapon.”
What the hell? I release the breath I’ve been holding. “I’m in need of a new pair of shit-kickers, but I don’t go around stalking people who might have a pair I like, and breaking into their homes to harass them into giving them up.”
There’s a twinkle in his eyes. Bastard.
“I’m glad you find me so amusing. But ain’t no arm candy here. Sorry for your trouble.” I take the empty dessert plate out of his hand, rinse the crumbs, and place it in the dishwasher.
When he steps closer, I pull out a scouring pad from a box under the sink and begin to scrub the stainless-steel basin like my life depends on it, ignoring the singe of his glare.
“Perhaps I wasn’t plainspoken enough for a simple girl from Mississippi. You will join me for an upcoming mission. And it will require you to terminate your employment with Smith.”
I’ve officially entered the twilight zone. My hands are shaking, and I suspect there are at least a half dozen other tells that I don’t want him to see. “You’ve lost your damn mind.” I toss the scouring pad in the trash and wipe my hands. “I hear there are doctors who can help with that sort of thing.” My back is toward him as I head out of the kitchen. “Lock the door and turn on the alarm on your way out so no more assholes break in tonight. My quota for the day has been met.” I pause for a second before reaching the doorway, but I don’t turn to face him. “If that’s not plainspoken enough for a spoiled rich boy from Charleston, let me put it another way. Fuck you. And get out of my house.”
In one move, he grabs my arm and spins me around until I’m between him and the kitchen counter. “Don’t you dare turn your back and walk away until I’m finished.”
He’s in a mood, and I’m about to bear the brunt of it—maybe that’s apt since I believe I’m responsible for the crankiness.
“These are your choices,” he says, as though he might actually give me a choice. “One, you continue to behave like a brat. I walk out that door and send every image I have to the local authorities and to the Bureau. You go to prison.” He tugs on my arm. “How much fun do you think the guards will have with your pretty little covert ass? Within a day, you’ll be everybody’s favorite cum bucket.” I cringe because it’s true. “And Smith’s business will be ruined by his close association with the woman who murdered Archbishop Darden in cold blood. Everybody will think he put you up to it, to avenge
Kate. That’s what they’ll all believe, and you know it.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Or two, you learn your place, and do as I say. This is an important mission. One that will allow you not only to do good, but to get your hands good and dirty in the process. To use all the tools in your arsenal, just as you were trained to do.”
Important mission. Allow you to do good. Use all the tools in your arsenal, just as you were trained to do. His words spin round and round in my head. I’m intrigued, but I’m also out of sorts and not thinking straight. “What’s behind door number three?”
I should have asked about door number two, but I lashed out impulsively, because I’m a fighter. I don’t run. Never have. I punch back, hard. It’s my default setting when I’m cornered. “Is that where the shiny new car and the beach vacation is hiding? There’s always a car.” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I regret them.
The fury in his eyes is stunning, but I don’t blink.
“Number three,” he says, in a tone that raises the hair on the back of my neck, “is I bend you over this,” his knuckles rap against the countertop, “pull down those ratty sweatpants, and fuck you until you can’t walk for a month. Then you’ll do what I want, because you know I’m not playing about those photos.”
I lift my chin defiantly.
He shakes his head. “You might be able to handle being the prison whore, but I don’t think you’re prepared to see Smith ruined.”
Of all the things Gray has ever said, that holds the most truth. I will slit my wrists before becoming the prison whore, but I will not allow Smith to go down in ashes because of me. He is the most important member of the little family I’ve cobbled together. He’s the man who took me in and gave me a job after I’d become a pariah. He held out his hand, when everyone else was still kicking me. No, I will not let anyone destroy him. And Gray damn well knows it.
“Smith is part of your family, as much as he’s part of mine.” I’m surprised my voice doesn’t echo how powerless I feel right now. “You would hurt him to punish me?”
Gray steps back, and I can breathe again.
“Smith lost his big-brother status when he planted you in my club without a word about it.”
“He did it to protect your family. To protect you.”
“I have no desire to see Smith burn. But if he becomes collateral damage, so be it. His fortune is in your hands.”
Bullshit. I don’t believe it. “What would your brother say about this? Smith is JD’s best friend. And Gabby. What would she say?”
His teeth slide over his bottom lip, with a nasty snarl. “The more people you involve, the more people get hurt. But the bottom line is still the same. The stakes are high. Bigger than any one person—any one family. Even my own.”
His words are sobering, and I don’t know what to make of them. While I can’t say for sure how he feels about Smith, I am absolutely certain he loves his brothers. And Gabby. And his baby niece. You can’t hide those kinds of feelings, and they’re plain as day when he’s with them.
“What am I to tell Smith?”
“Whatever you want. You might start with the truth. How dissatisfied you’ve become, because you miss the field work. He’ll understand that. He just went through something similar himself. Then tell him you need him to trust you. Bat those long eyelashes at him when you talk.”
Fucker. “Bat my eyelashes? That’s not what my relationship with Smith is about. He respects me and the work I do.”
“He does. And he should. But you need more than someone who respects you. You need someone to capture your attention and keep you in line so you don’t run around killing off the local clergy.” He takes a fistful of my hair. “Have I captured your attention, De-li-lah?”
“You’re a vile excuse for a human being. I hate you.”
“That matters not at all in this equation. Although the prospect of a little demon fighting back does make my dick hard.”
I look away, focusing on a tiny gash at the bottom right corner of the refrigerator. I never noticed it before, but I’m desperate to find a distraction. Because I’m ashamed. Ashamed that I would like nothing more than for this despicable asshole to shove his hard cock into me. I’ve wanted him so bad for so long that I don’t know how not to want him—even when he’s behaving like a world-class prick.
“Why did you do it?” he asks, letting go of my hair.
I’m still thinking about his cock and not at all sure what he’s asking.
“Kill Archbishop Darden.”
We’re back to that. “He was the one who put that devil Creighton at St. Maggie’s.”
“So?”
“So, do you know how many women Creighton tortured and killed? In my book, Darden was just as responsible.” And that’s not even the half of it. That sonofabitch has been spreading evil for decades. “I spent hours with Kate at the hospital. I held her hand while she was being examined. Stood there and listened to the things he did to her. I listened to the fear in her voice and to the shame she’s going to carry for a long time—maybe forever. Shame that should not be her burden.”
Gray eyes me suspiciously. I need to stop talking.
“Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. You’re such a big fan of Kate McKenna that you decided to seek vengeance in her name. You murdered a man of God while he slept, because of loyalty to the sisterhood. Did I get that right?”
I don’t bother responding because he knows I’m not being entirely truthful, and it can only get worse from here. “It’s none of your damn business, asshole.”
He wedges his thumb under my chin, forcing me to look into the depths of those ice-cold blue eyes. “Pick number three,” he goads, snapping the waistband of my sweatpants. “Go ahead. Do it. I’m begging you.”
“I could kill you in your sleep, too,” I assure him sweetly, without a thimbleful of self-preservation. It’s not that I’m so brave—or foolish, for that matter. It’s that I’m confident he won’t hurt me.
“You could try.” He takes his hands off me and moves a few feet away, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. “But you won’t. Because I’m promising you things you haven’t had in a long time. Things you enjoy.”
God, he’s insufferable. “And exactly what are those things?”
“Excitement. Fun. A chance to use your skills—all of them—for the benefit of humanity.” He watches me carefully as he continues ticking off the perks. “An opportunity for submission—an outlet for your deepest desires. That’s the icing on top.”
“In your dreams.” The words come out rough and low, and reticent, because for the last few years, that’s been my dream. But there’s no way I’m telling him that. It will just become one more thing to use against me. “Submission isn’t demanded—through extortion, no less. It’s given freely to those who earn it. You haven’t earned a fucking thing.”
“I’m well aware.” He captures my gaze and doesn’t let go. “But this is a mission we’re discussing. Not a relationship.”
I swallow the retort on the tip of my tongue. I’m tired and it’s not worth the energy. We both know I’m going to pick door number two. Maybe we’ve known it since the beginning. “I need more information before agreeing to anything.”
“I’ll read you in as much as I can when the time is right. First, you need to cut professional ties with Smith.”
Read me in? It’s a classified mission. A black op? Can’t be. “Who exactly do you work for?”
“The good guys,” he answers, without hesitation.
“That’s it? I’m supposed to quit my job and go on some half-cocked mission with you? I don’t even know who you are anymore.” His Adam’s apple bobs, but he doesn’t say anything. “Quit my job—hell. Are you even planning on paying me?”
“In cash?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, in cash. A woman’s got to pay her rent and eat. If you can’t promise—”
“You’ll be paid. In all sorts of ways, including cash.�
�
“I’m only interested in the cash. The rest I can take care of myself.”
Gray studies me with a wicked gleam in his eyes, as though he’s imagining me on my back, naked, feet sole to sole, strumming my clit for his pleasure. After several long seconds, his mouth twists into the mocking sneer of a predator who has cornered his prey and wants to spend some time toying with it before he eats. “You wound me, Delilah.”
“Your cock is nowhere near as magical as you seem to think it is. Doesn’t even warrant an honorable mention. But maybe they have a participation trophy for you.” I meet his eyes with a self-satisfied sneer of my own. “Someone had to tell you.”
He doesn’t say anything. But if that smug look on his face could talk, it would say, we’ll see how magical my cock is when you’re begging for it.
I need him to leave. It’s not that I want the damn thing pressing against his zipper. Not right now, anyway. It’s that I could be persuaded. And men with erections are not to be trusted. Ever.
“It’s late,” I say, turning off the light over the sink. “Are we done?”
“For tonight. Get in touch with me after you talk to Smith.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“Yes, you have.” He pulls a phone from his pocket. “Use this to contact me. Only this. My number is already programmed. The password is Sultan’s Palace. All one word.” He tips his head to the side. “Just like that night, you have the ultimate control. You just have to be prepared to live with the consequences.”
He opens the back door and steps out into the night. Seconds after the screen door bangs behind him, my new phone vibrates. When I turn it over, there’s a message with a series of images. They’re all of me with the archbishop.
I want to chase him into the darkness, all the way to the gates of Hell, and use the damn phone to beat some decency into him, but I don’t. Not tonight. But the moment will come. I can be cold and calculating too.
7
