Sacrifice of Passion (Deadly Legends)

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  The doorknob rattled. “It’s Vic. Your folks said you were down here. Open up.”

  Every nerve in her body was instantly on alert. She silently cursed her parents for ratting her out. “I…um…it’s late, Vic—”

  “Not as late as three in the morning.”

  She blinked hard, trying to make her eyes adjust more quickly to the darkness inside. She pulled against the ropes. What a stupid plan it had been to tie herself up.

  “I’m not leaving until we talk. And your parents gave me the key.”

  Even through the door, she could hear the determination in his voice. Remembered in an instant the pleasure that had coursed through her body last night. “Vic,” she said, willing her voice to be calm and strong. “Last night was a mistake. You should go home…”

  Words froze on her lips as the lock clicked and the door opened. Vic filled the doorway, and any sliver of hope she’d felt that he’d leave vanished, instantly giving way to trepidation intertwined with intense arousal.

  Double crap.

  His eyebrows jerked up in surprise while his eyes roved over her, pausing at the ropes wound around her wrists and her ankles.

  He schooled his expression. “Well, well.” He quietly closed the door behind him and turned the lock before facing her again. “Now it makes sense.”

  “Wh-what does?” she stammered, squinting her eyes against the blast of light as he flipped the switch on.

  He scanned the room and his eyes zeroed in on a small lamp in the corner. He strode to it, set a key down, turned the lamp on, and then turned off the ceiling light. “More games.”

  She was amazed she could think, let alone speak, but she managed. “What do you want, Vic?”

  Instead of answering, he sat beside her, his hand trailing from the inside of her arm to her wrist, stopping at the coil that bound her to the bed. She felt dizzy. Had a momentary flash of panic, but she pushed it away. This was not then. This was now. And this was Vic. She tried to stay focused. Felt her body come alive. His fingertips brushed hers, and then his hand grasped her cell phone, moving it to the nightstand. “You’re full of secrets, Laney. Bondage. Interesting.”

  “This isn’t for you,” she managed to say.

  His eyes hooded. Turned dark. “Then who is it for?”

  “No one,” she said, but her sharp intake of breath as he ran his hand ran up her arm again registered on his face.

  “So you’re not expecting anyone else?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Good.” He stood and slipped out of his jacket, his gaze never leaving her. “Then we have lots of time. And I have lots of questions.”

  “No,” she said, but stopped as Vic came close again. She cursed her body and the way it ached with anticipation. Just breathing the same air as him sent her mind reeling, and she could only think about how he’d tasted the night before, how hot his breath had been against her skin, how he’d made her body respond…

  “And the best part,” he said as he perched one knee on the bed between her legs and knelt over her, “is that for once, you can’t run away from me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A million thoughts had raced through Vic’s mind when he saw Delaney tied to the bed in the cabin, starting with the fact that the woman was truly crazy and ending with the fact that he’d never been more turned on in his entire life. Delaney West was like a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle and he’d barely managed to put together one corner. But with any luck, she’d give him some answers tonight. They’d have each other, and then all would be right with the world.

  He knelt over her, barely managing to restrain himself from ripping off her clothes. And his. And taking her.

  She stared up at him with a mix of fury and embarrassment. And arousal. The intensity in her gaze sent a shot of reality through him. He certainly wasn’t going to take her without her consent. But he needed answers. And he needed her. And he couldn’t have one without the other.

  Besides, how fun was this? He had no idea what her game was, but he liked it.

  “Untie me,” she demanded. Her voice held an edge to it, but in the dim light of the cabin, he could see the strain in her eyes.

  “First tell me why you’re covered in ropes.”

  “Vic—”

  “Explain, Delaney. I’ve got all night.”

  She stared at him, defiant, and more sexy than he’d thought possible. “It’s too complicated.” She smiled at him, but it was forced.

  “Then let’s start with something less complicated.” In one swift movement, he was off of her—for his own self-preservation as much as for hers. That close to her, he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself for long and he didn’t want to rush anything. He pulled up a chair, turned it around and straddled it, close enough to the bed to still touch her. Folding his arms across the back, he looked down at her, captivated by the shock of fiery red threaded through her hair and the defiant arch of her eyebrows. Her full lips, the flush on her cheeks. He wanted to possess her with every cell in his body.

  Muscles in her neck flexed as she tried to free her hands. It did no good. However she’d managed it, she’d tied some darn good knots. A rancher’s daughter, through and through.

  “Laney.” Vic made himself stay detached, the only way he could stay in control. “You owe me an explanation—”

  “About what?”

  He made himself focus on her cell phone. On the headboard. On the floor. On anything but the fluid movements of her body as she writhed, straining against her binds. “About last night,” he said, his gaze finally returning to her face. “And while you’re at it, about the chupacabra.”

  She stopped working on the knots. “What?”

  Ah, he’d hit a button. “Derek Braido came to see me.”

  “To arrest you, I hope,” she muttered.

  “He told me Alan found another dead goat this morning. On your property. Drained of its blood, like it had been killed by a chupacabra. Kind of peculiar since you just asked me about that same creature, don’t you think?”

  “Hardly.” She averted her eyes. “I told you, I heard about the dead animals at the clinic. The doc mentioned the chupacabra. That’s why I asked you about it.”

  “Bullshit.” Vic stood up, pushing the chair aside. Leaning down, he turned her face to his. “You asked because of Esperanza’s warning. What I want to know is, what do you have to do with any of that?”

  “Nothing. I have no idea what she—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Laney. I know something’s wrong. I want to help you, but I can’t—”

  She clamped her mouth shut.

  “I’m not leaving until you give me some answers,” he finished.

  The minutes ticked by, each second like slow torture to his soul. She wasn’t going to talk. She didn’t trust him. Just like she hadn’t trusted him twelve years ago.

  All right. If this is how she wanted to play it… He contemplated his choices. If she wouldn’t willingly tell him, he’d just have to be more…creatively persuasive.

  His voice dropped as he trailed his fingers along the inside of her arm. Across her collarbone. Down her opposite arm. “What’s going on? Tell me.”

  Her chest began to rise and fall in short bursts and her voice came out in a strained whisper. “I can’t…”

  “Yes, you can.” He leaned over her until his lips brushed hers.

  At once, her mouth opened against his and her low sigh sent him reeling. This was the third time he’d kissed her in as many days and each time she tasted better than the last, each kiss more searing, as if she was burning her way into his flesh.

  She squirmed, her hips twisting, her back arching, and he almost lost it then and there. He pulled away, pleased at the way her head lifted from the pillow to stay with him. How her eyes fluttered
open, longing etched in them.

  “You’re breaking and entering,” she said, her voice husky and strained.

  He grinned slowly, his eyelids unbelievably heavy, and his fingers trailed down her neck, his mouth tracing the same path with lingering kisses. “Not yet.”

  A flush colored her cheeks. “Oh, no …” But her head fell back in response to his kiss.

  He found her lips again, and let his tongue sweep through her mouth.

  When she didn’t answer, he deepened the kiss until her body arched toward him. She tasted blissfully sweet, and much as he wanted to cup her face in his hands and kiss her tenderly, he used restraint. When he and Laney made love, it would be without a shadow of doubt hanging over them. And without ropes forcing her to stay.

  Using his leg and arm muscles, he stretched out, hovering over her, a breath of air between them. He felt her hips rise, seeking him, but he lifted himself up, keeping the small space between them. If she touched him, he’d be a goner. Hell, he was almost a goner now. He pulled away from the kiss, feeling her body quiver as she tried to keep the connection.

  Sitting back, he let his gaze slowly pass over her body. Let his desire color his expression. He suddenly wanted her to know what she was doing to him, wanted her to know how much he desired her. He was through with games. Whatever had happened between them in the past was becoming nothing but a distant memory. He still loved her. Still wanted her. She was still his one and only.

  Her eyes were soft with the same desire that coursed through him. Satisfied that he hadn’t imagined her arousal, he lowered himself over her again and brushed his lips over her breast through the fabric of her top. He smiled to himself when he felt her body respond. Felt her nipple tighten as his tongue teased it. Her back arched and a low moan escaped her. He slipped his opposite hand under her shirt, pushing the fabric up until the cool air hitting her breasts made her nipples constrict even more. He drew back, controlling his breathing. Resisting his impulse to strip her naked, free his erection, and take her that instant.

  “You haven’t changed,” he said. “One touch and you’re on fire.”

  Her head moved in what he thought was a nod. Her breathing was shallow. Desire-laden. Pushing her breasts together, he attacked them savagely, moving relentlessly between them, sucking them, his tongue swirling, until she cried out and her hips gyrated and she reached for him again.

  Her wrists strained against the ropes, her fingers managing to touch his side every few seconds. Finally, he stopped his single-minded attention on her breasts and looked up at her through his eyelashes.

  “Don’t stop!” she cried.

  “Never.” And then he moved his hand between her legs, his fingers rubbing her through the fabric of her lightweight sweat pants. He centered his attention where his fingers found the heated bundle of nerves that made her buck and writhe. She arched against him again, trying desperately to increase the pressure, her every ragged breath pulsing straight into him.

  Letting his hand slide away from her, he stood and pulled his shirt off, smiling as her cheeks flushed. As she struggled in frustration. He undid the fastenings of his jeans to relieve his trapped erection. “Answer one question for me, Laney.”

  “Vic…”

  “We need to have a clean slate.”

  She nodded, her eyes barely managing to stay open, her hips rising and falling slightly, as if calling for his touch. “One question,” she breathed.

  “Why in the hell are you tied up?” he asked, his hands sliding up her legs until his fingers curled around the elastic waistband of her sweats.

  Blowing out a slow breath, she squeezed her eyes shut, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

  “Trust me,” he said, his voice low. Saying the words made him realize how much he wanted just that. She could trust him. He’d never do anything to hurt her. “Please.”

  She hesitated again, and then finally spoke. It was barely more than a whisper. “I sleepwalk.”

  He sat, stunned, for a full minute, trying to decipher the implications of what she’d said. Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been this. “I don’t understand.”

  “I sleepwalk,” she said, with more strength this time.

  Understanding hit. “Oh.” He sat back and ran his hand over his face. “Oh, shit.” She’d come to him in the middle of the night. She’d been scared and disoriented as she’d climaxed. “Last night.” Recrimination swept over him. Shit. Shit. Shit. “You were sleepwalking, weren’t you?”

  Slowly, she nodded. Almost imperceptibly.

  He sat on the bed next to her, his fingers lightly tracing the line of her jaw, trailing her neck. “And you’re tied up so you don’t sleepwalk tonight?”

  She bit her lip again. “That was the plan.”

  He deflated. “So you wouldn’t end up in my bed.”

  “Or drained of blood.” Her voice trembled slightly, but the edges of her lips curved upward and her pupils grew large.

  That half-smile and the fire in her eyes gave him hope. “And yet here I am in your bed instead.”

  Her body made a subtle undulation, drawing his gaze to her breasts. “Must be fate.”

  Desire spun through him, and he moved his fingertips down the swell, barely brushing her skin. “You want me to touch you?”

  Desire swirled in her eyes, behind fluttering eyelids. “Yes.”

  His fingers teased her nipple. He wanted nothing more than to rip off her bindings and plunge himself into her, but he needed more from her. “Do you want to make love?”

  A pink tongue whetted her lips, her wrists twisting against the rope again. “Do you?”

  Wanting to make love to her was a spectacular understatement. He wanted to ravish her. To give her pleasure like she’d never known. To never let her go. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Then untie me and prove it,” she whispered.

  All in good time. He let his palm hover over her breast, barely making contact with her erect nipple as he tried to read her. She’d given him the green light for making love to her. But did it mean that she trusted him again? Or that they could recapture what they’d once had?

  Her back arched as he squeezed her, and she cried out desperately. “Come on Vic! Untie the ropes!”

  Slowly, he stood and undid the ropes at her ankles, slipping her pajama bottoms off in one smooth motion. Her knees instantly rose, her thighs clamped together tightly as if the action could stop the uncontrollable sensations in her body.

  “You’re sure?” he asked, letting his hands rest lightly on her knees.

  With her eyes squeezed shut, her hips slid into motion. “I…”

  “Say it, Laney. Tell me. I need to hear it.”

  “I…I…” She opened her eyes. They were deep pools of silk, so intense he thought he might drown in them.

  “Say it,” he urged.

  “Yes. I’ve always wanted—” She stopped abruptly. Swallowed. “I’m sure.”

  It was all he needed to hear. His vision blurred. She froze and seemed to stop breathing as he ran his hands ran down her thighs. Delaney West. The woman he’d been waiting for his whole life.

  “Untie my hands.” Her voice was strangled.

  “Now?” He insinuated his knee between her feet. Gently pried her knees apart until she was exposed to him. His breath caught. Beautiful. With a light touch, he let his hands slide down her inner thighs, his thumbs whispering over the skin between her legs.

  “You…now…please…” she breathed.

  He almost gave in to what they both wanted, but he needed one more answer. He needed her with a clean slate. Nothing between them. He forced himself to stay in control, letting his fingers lightly touch her until she writhed beneath him. “Tell me about chupacabra.”

  Her body stiffened under him, and he moved his
fingers more purposefully until she relaxed again, her desire the only thing she could focus on. “I only know what you told me…”

  With his touch still agonizingly light, he explored her folds. She bucked her hips, trying to press herself against him. He gave in, increasing the pressure of his hand against her. “What did Esperanza tell you about it?”

  A lie hovered on her lips, and he could see her mind battling with what to tell him. He lifted his hand until his fingers were nothing more than a breeze against her. He willed her to tell him the truth. No secrets. That was all they needed.

  “I already told you yesterday. Right before we—” With a mixture of pleasure and agony, she cried out to him. “Please, Vic…”

  “There’s more.” His erection had become painful, locked in his pants, longing to be in her. “Tell me everything.”

  She sucked in a deep breath and her eyes flew open. “She said the chupacabra was after me. That I should be careful or I would die,” she blurted.

  Her words stunned him into silence. He sat up and pulled his hand away from her. “What the hell?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what she meant. But I can’t—” Her voice was a frazzled whisper. “I…I don’t want to talk about it now.” She pulled frantically against her bound wrists. “Untie my hands.” Her hips rose, making contact with his hand.

  “Delaney—”

  “Please, Vic. I need you.” Her voice was strained.

  She was desperate with desire, and as stunned as Vic was with her confession about the curandera, he couldn’t leave her like this. Frustrated. Unsatisfied.

  Her eyelids closed as he touched her again, as she gyrated against him. Delaney wasn’t going to die. There was no chupacabra. There was only the two of them, and this moment.

  She gasped as he drove his thumb hard against her, her movements frenetic, and then, out of nowhere, her body exploded in climax, the folds of her pulsing against his fingers.

  A part of him had been afraid that she’d walk out again, or worse, that she’d let him make love to her without stopping him but also without responding to his touch.