The AC was packed, but they managed to find two seats at the end of the bar. Rowen gestured for beers and a moment later, Billy set two cold ones in front of them.
Rowen tipped his dripping bottle to Scarlet’s. “To figuring out what the fuck is going on.”
“Amen.” Scarlet clinked her bottle against his and took a drink.
“I don’t think you have to worry,” Rowen said after a couple of minutes.
She looked over at him. “About what?”
“About appearing weak.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she muttered, turning her attention to the label peeling from her beer bottle.
“Maybe,” he allowed. “But it’s true. The guys respect you. Admire you, even. I can see it on their faces. And Eva, too, I’m sure.”
She took a deep breath. “You might be right, but I can’t afford to drop my guard. Not unless I want the Alliance to bring in someone from the outside if my father … if he …”
“Hey …” Rowen’s voice was uncharacteristically tender. She avoided his eyes. “Hey,” he said again.
When she glanced up at him, he seemed to be looking right through her. She felt suddenly naked in front of him, and her heart picked up its pace, slamming against her chest as he held her gaze.
He took a drink of beer like a dying man slaking his thirst. She couldn’t take her eyes off his lips, could almost imagine the taste of his mouth.
“What about Ivan?” he asked, setting down his nearly-drained bottle.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Ivan doesn’t have a lot of fans.”
“I noticed,” he said. “But he’s young. People change.”
She peeled the wet label from her bottle. “Have you changed?”
She felt him stiffen beside her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I heard what happened in London. With the police.” She took a long slug of her beer. “Word is, it wasn’t the first time.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I have a different idea of honor than some of the others in the Corp.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say that while I understand the need to stay under the radar, keeping quiet when bad shit’s going down isn’t in my nature.”
She turned to face him. “What kind of bad shit?”
He turned the beer bottle in his hand on the bar, studying it like it would tell him what to say next. “I was on my way back from a wraith fight. It was late. I saw a woman being dragged into an alley by a group of men.” He shrugged. “I put a stop to it. It drew some unwanted attention. That’s all.”
“Did you kill them? The men who attacked her?”
“Not quite.”
She faced forward, taking advantage of the opportunity to stare at Rowen in the mirror over the bar. From this perspective, he didn’t look like the imposing asshole she’d taken him for. Okay, he was still imposing. And gorgeous. But he was a man, his head bowed to his beer, the strong planes of his face illuminated by the dim light shining overhead. She wanted to run her hands along the stubble at his jaw. To push the leather jacket back from his shoulders.
She downed the rest of her beer, glad when Billy set two more down in front of them. She needed something to put out the fire in her body, and since it couldn’t be Rowen Black, cold beer would have to do. And lots of it.
“So they censured you for saving a woman from being attacked.” She was surprised at the bitterness in her own voice.
“I don’t blame them. It’s against the rules to draw attention to ourselves. And like you said, it’s not like it was the first time. The Alliance did what they had to do.” He glanced over at her. “Besides, this assignment isn’t so bad.”
“Yeah?” She raised her eyes to his. She didn’t know if she would drown in their molten lava or burn in their fire, but she couldn’t look away. She was suddenly and acutely aware of his muscular thighs, inches from hers and casually spread open. She had the urge to step into them, to feel their strength on either side of her hips, to feel his hardness against her belly.
“Yeah.” His voice was gruff.
She could feel the heat coming off his body, pulling her in like a tropical storm. She was hyper-aware of his scent, leather and cold air, of the way she could make out his pecs under his shirt, of his fingers wrapped around the cold beer. She wanted to feel his big hands on her skin, to let them cool the fire burning in her blood.
She slugged half the beer in one gulp. “I should go.”
She slid off the bar stool, aware of him at her back as she hurried to the entrance of the AC. They stepped outside, and she gulped greedily from the cool air, hoping it would quell the desire pulsing through her body.
“Hey.” He put a hand on her arm.
She looked up at him.
“Scarlet …” His voice was hoarse and low, her name a caress on his lips.
The answering desire she felt from the magnetic pull of his body was no comfort. She had to get out of there.
And fast.
She shook her head, taking a step back. “I have to go.”
Then she turned and moved as fast as her feet would carry her. Before she could do something really stupid.
Fifteen
Rowen hung back, following her from the shadows. No way in hell was he going to let her walk back to headquarters alone. Besides, they were headed to the same place. Eventually.
He thought back to the moment in the bar, their bodies inches apart, her sleek thighs inches from his. He’d wanted to pull her to him, to clench his legs around her slender hips, to feel the swell of her breasts against his chest. The smell of roses and that sensual, musky undertone had wound its way like smoke into his pores. He’d had to resist the urge to take a deep breath, to inhale her while he could. He’d been sure there was desire in her eyes.
Then again, maybe it was the two beers she’d pounded in quick succession.
He hurried to catch up as she rounded another corner. Three of the four street lamps were out, the remaining one casting sickly yellow light across the pavement. She was halfway down the block when the two wraiths appeared under the working lamp.
Fuck.
She slowed, reaching inside her jacket. The sickle was in her hand before they’d stepped out of the light. Rowen heard the soft whoosh of it as it opened in her palm.
He unsheathed his own weapon, but stayed in the shadows. The last thing he needed was to have his ass handed to him again for breaking up one of her fights.
“Must be a slow night in Clifton,” she said as she approached them.
One of them was enormous, beefy, with a neck the size of a tree trunk. His head was shaved, and from the looks of things, a plastic surgeon hadn’t been available when he’d incurred the jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face.
The other one was only a little over six feet, still way bigger than Scarlet, who approached the wraiths like they were going to sell her ice cream rather than try to kill her with their sickles. Their eyes glowed blood red, one of the only traits that marked them as something other than human.
“Alliance scum …” the little one growled.
Scarlet stepped closer to them and faked a yawn. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon dispense with the preliminaries. It’s been a long day.”
She was three feet from them when the little one flanked her, moving around her left side until he was almost behind her. Scarlet stepped forward aggressively like she had when she’d sparred with Kane. She raised her sickle to the big demon, driving him back toward the light. It was a good move. Every now and then, a wraith surprised you and used the light to skip in the middle of the fight. Sometimes they did it when they knew they were outmatched. Other times, Rowen was sure the demons were just fucking with them, getting their adrenaline pumping and then leaving them high and dry in the heat of the battle.
Scarlet was giving this one a chance to skip. He didn’t take it, though, and the air around Rowen reverberated with the clang of
his sickle against Scarlet’s. Rowen felt the impact of it, every cell in his body alive and alert and fighting the urge to rage against the two wraiths who dared to raise their weapons to Scarlet.
But she held her own, using her smaller size and greater speed to maneuver the big one back, putting him off balance and giving her time to turn her attention to the smaller one.
It worked for a while, but ten minutes into the fight, Rowen could see her fatigue in the way she held her arm a little lower, her motions becoming slightly more sluggish, though still faster than many of the assassins he’d worked with overseas.
He lost the last of his restraint when the little one came from behind, raising his sickle and bringing the jagged edge of it down toward her shoulder. She spun under his arm and away from him, but fell to the pavement in the process. The two demons converged on her.
“Hey! Assholes.” Rowen crossed the distance in a few long strides. His weapon was in the air before he reached them, and he wasted no time striking out at the smaller one, the clean edge of his sickle slicing across the demon’s chest with satisfying ease.
The wraith stumbled back, his hand instinctively coming up to cover the wound. Rowen extended a hand to Scarlet, pulling her up from the street and pushing her behind him as he took on the bigger demon.
She’d probably be pissed later, but better her alive and angry, than smug and dead.
The wraith in front of him was massive. The bastards had no honor, as evidenced by their double-teaming someone half their size. Rowen took out his fury on the big demon, hitting him with two strikes of his sickle before sensing the little one behind him.
Rowen landed a wicked kick to the big one’s gut. When he stumbled backward, Rowen turned his attention to the smaller one, slicing at the demon’s chest until his shirt was in tatters. A few seconds later, the demons stepped under the street lamp, using the light to dematerialize who-knew-where.
Rowen wiped his sickle on his jeans, sheathing the weapon before he turned to Scarlet, now standing behind him. He braced himself for a tirade, but when she approached him, it was to put a warm hand on his arm.
“You’re bleeding,” she said softly.
He glanced down. One of the wraiths had landed a superficial slice to his left tricep.
She tipped her head toward the street. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Sixteen
She told herself to turn back at least three times as they headed across town. She’d never taken anyone to the apartment on Warren Street. Even her father didn’t know it existed.
Rowen was quiet beside her as they climbed three flights of wooden stairs. His face was grim, like she was leading him to his execution instead of taking care of his wound.
She led him to the door at the end of the hall, and withdrew a set of keys from the pocket of her jeans.
“After you,” she said when she’d unlocked all of the deadbolts.
He stepped hesitantly inside and she relocked everything before heading into the dark apartment, flicking on lights as she went.
She dropped her keys on a side table she’d pulled off the curb in one of the nicer parts of town. She watched Rowen’s face as he scanned the room.
She’d adored the place the minute she laid eyes on it. Once an old tinsel factory, it was just one of a hundred old factory buildings in Clifton, but she loved the exposed brick walls, the concrete floor, gray and unadorned. Now, after a year of flea market treasure hunting, the place was an eclectic mix of Persian rugs and obscure art anchored by a new, chocolate-brown sofa.
Rowen’s eyes strayed to the enormous bed, visible only through gauzy curtains she’d hung from the high ceiling to separate her sleeping quarters from the rest of the large room. Her cheeks grew hot.
“Please, sit down.” She went into the kitchen for a clean washcloth. “Hold this over the wound to stop the bleeding. I’ll get some warm water and gauze.”
She turned on a table lamp and lit a few candles near the sofa. The apartment had no overhead light and very few outlets. She would need good light to dress Rowen’s wound.
She grabbed a large bowl on her way to the bathroom and ran the water until it was warm. While the bowl filled, she gathered a washcloth, gauze, and a tube of anti-bacterial ointment.
“What is this place?” Rowen asked from the other room.
Tucking the supplies under her arm, she carried the bowl of water carefully back to the living room.
“It’s my … private place.”
“Why private?”
She dunked a washcloth into the water. “If I told anybody, it would only be a matter of time before Eva was knocking on the door with a bottle of wine, or my brother was showing up to argue strategy for the hundredth time. I just wanted something that was mine, you know?”
He nodded, looking around. “It’s nice.”
She smiled, and for the first time, it felt right.
“Thank you.” He flinched as she reached for the bottom of his shirt. “We need to get that shirt off if we’re going to dress the wound.”
“Right,” he nodded.
She reached for the shirt again and heard the intake of his breath as her fingers brushed the bare skin of his stomach. Her face was close, too close, to his. She swallowed hard, avoiding his eyes as she lifted the shirt.
He raised his arms and she withdrew the shirt from his body. Her heart sped up as she took in the sculpted pecs narrowing to a tight waist, a fine trail of dark hair starting at his navel and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
This was going to be harder than she’d thought.
She tried to focus on the washcloth, wringing the extra water from it over the bowl, but it was a losing battle. His body was like an erupting volcano next to her, hot and impossible to ignore.
She took a deep breath and turned back to him, lifting the washcloth to his arm. “This may hurt a little.”
“Already does,” he said through clenched teeth, and she wondered if he was referring to the wound or the tension building between them.
He hissed when she touched the washcloth to the back of his arm. She gently cleaned the area around the wound and laid gauze over it. When she was done, she placed a hand on it, wanting to make sure the tape would stay put.
She didn’t get the chance to pull away before his big hand came down over hers. He brought it to his chest, holding it there until she could feel the soft thump-thump of his heart.
“Scarlet.”
She was powerless to avoid his eyes, and when she looked up into them, their faces only inches apart, she knew she was lost.
He pulled her onto his lap in one swift motion, her side pressed against his chest. “This is going to happen.”
His tone left no room for argument. Which was fine, because Scarlet was done arguing.
She sighed as he reached up, lacing one hand into the hair at the base of her neck. Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck as he pulled her face down. The moment stretched into infinity, and then his lips were on hers, gentle at first, cautious, like he was still afraid she’d change her mind. She opened her mouth to him, pressing against his body until her breasts were tight against his bare chest.
He groaned aloud, his tongue answering hers in its ferocity, teasing and sweeping the hot inside of her mouth as a fire built at the core of her. His hardness pressed against her ass, and the secret space between her thighs burned to feel him inside her.
He pulled back, breathing heavy. “I want to savor this. I want to savor you.”
He stood up, lifting her in his arms like she was no more than a feather. He carried her across the big room, parting the gauzy curtains in the sleeping area. Reaching down with one hand, he impatiently ripped the covers back from the bed before laying her gently on top of the silk sheets.
He kicked his shoes off and stood there, staring at her with animal lust and something else, something fierce and possessive.
His gaze set her skin aflame. Her hips came off the bed of
their own accord, as if by meeting him halfway she could feel him inside of her faster.
She reached for him. “Rowen …”
He lay next to her, tucking his face into the hollow of her throat and inhaling. His lips touched the delicate skin near her ear. She moaned as his tongue flicked out, inflicting sweet torment as it traveled under her jaw and down her neck, his mouth leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
Her nipples were rigid with desire, and she took his hand and pressed it against her breasts, release already a promise building at the core of her.
Seventeen
Rowen’s body was an inferno. Scarlet was stretched out next to him, the moans coming from her full lips almost sending him over the edge before he even had his damn pants off.
Her breasts were full and heavy in his hands, the nipples pressing insistently against his fingertips even through her bra. He was burning for her, couldn’t wait another second to feel her bare skin against his.
He lifted his mouth from the hollow between her breasts and took the bottom of her shirt in his hands. She groaned in protest, trying to pull him back down. Her desire made his erection, already painful against the restraint of his jeans, throb.
He lifted the shirt from her head, gasping as the creamy skin of her abdomen was revealed, the crystalline pendant nestled between her breasts. Her pink nipples teased him through the black lace of her bra as she fell back, her hair a silky waterfall on the ivory pillow.
“Please,” she gasped. “Hurry.”
It took effort not to accommodate, not to rip off her clothes and his, too. Not to thrust into the wetness of her. And she was wet for him. That much was obvious from the arch of her back, her hips almost off the bed as she offered herself to him.
He shook his head resolutely as he undid the button of her jeans, peeling back the denim to reveal her black lace panties. The Guard’s symbol, entwined with lush roses and thorny vines, was etched onto the translucent skin of her hipbone.
Temptation's Heat Page 4
