It ripped through him and it was all he could do to keep himself still, to not grip her by the hips and push her down on the bare wood floorboards, shove her jeans down, and get inside her as quickly as he could.
Stop this. Now.
Yeah, he had to. This was wrong on just about every level there was and then some. He had no idea what she thought she was doing or what point she was trying to prove, but it couldn’t go any further. He was her foster brother for fuck’s sake and apart from anything else, he wasn’t getting involved with a woman he was supposed to be protecting. That was a recipe for disaster, as he already knew.
He lifted his hands ready to push her away. Except then she made a low, hungry sound in the back of her throat, arching her small, slender body against him, and he became excruciatingly aware of the soft press of her breasts against his chest and the pressure of her pubic bone against the slowly growing ridge behind his zipper.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Van tangled his fingers in the thick, silky mass of her hair, trying to ease her away gently. “Chloe,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice far thicker than he wanted it to be. “Stop.”
She ignored him, angling her head to maintain the contact instead, her hands dropping to his waist. She jerked his shirt from the waistband of his pants and reached under the cotton, cool fingers trailing over the skin of his bare stomach and then up to his chest.
His breath caught, every muscle tensing. Her touch was sweetly hesitant at first and then firmer, more needy, tracing fire all over his skin.
Van had spent years honing his will and his physical control, had been on missions where both had been tested to the very limits of his endurance.
But Chloe Tate’s trembling fingers on his skin? That nearly pushed him over the edge. Even his training in Coronado hadn’t tested him this much.
She was desperate for him, that was obvious, and there was something irresistible about that. He hadn’t let anyone get that desperate for him in a long time, hadn’t let anyone get close. He gave them what they wanted straight up and then moved on, end of story.
Maybe it was the denial that was getting to her, to both of them. The fact that they’d both been resisting. Whatever it was, the way she touched him, as if he were a drug she’d been craving and couldn’t get enough of, made desire grip him by the throat and hold on so tight he could barely get a breath.
Fuck, he had to let her go. Now. Before he lost the will to even try.
Tightening his grip in her hair, he tore his mouth away. “Chloe. Stop.”
But again she ignored him. Her touch turned frantic, her breath coming hard and fast, her fingers shaking as she slid them down to the button on his pants and fumbling with it.
“That’s enough.” Van grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands away from him and holding them still, his patience frayed almost all the way through. “I said stop.”
Her head jerked back, her beautiful face flushed, the fire in her dark eyes burning bright, full of anger and desire, and beneath that, a glimmer of the pain she was hiding, a pain he knew was there. The pain she kept denying.
She lifted her chin stubbornly, trying to free her hands from his grip, but he didn’t let them go.
“We can’t do this.” He kept his tone quiet, forceful. “I’m sorry, pretty, but we can’t.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed, the material of her plaid shirt pulling over the swell of her breasts and outlining the stiff points of her nipples. “Why not? It’s better than talking, isn’t it?”
“Chloe—”
“I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen.” The words came out in a rush. “And we’re not blood related. God, we’re not related at all. I don’t even think of you as my brother. And anyway, Dad made it very clear that I’m not part of the family, so why not?” She sucked in a harsh breath. “Unless you don’t want me.”
He should tell her that no, of course he didn’t want her. That he’d never had anything but brotherly feelings toward her. That he couldn’t do this with someone he was supposed to protect.
It would be the right thing to do, the only thing to do.
Yet, staring down into her flushed, pointed little face and seeing the desperation in her eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to lie to her like that. Not when she probably knew already how much of a lie it was.
Sixteen. She’d wanted him since she was sixteen. Christ …
“It doesn’t matter whether I want you or not. It’s not happening and that’s final.”
The fire in her eyes blazed, full of all the passion that had always been part of her, and he braced himself for anger.
Except it wasn’t anger that came out.
“Please, Van.” Her voice was husky, a pleading note in it that reached into his chest and wrapped warm fingers around his heart. “Please.”
He couldn’t look away from the hot, wild darkness in her gaze and the sudden vulnerability in it. The vulnerability he’d seen the day she’d put her head on his chest and wept.
It slid under his guard, piercing him like an assassin’s knife, and for some reason he was suddenly achingly conscious of the feel of her skin against his finger tips, so warm and soft. If he adjusted his grip on her wrists, he’d be able to feel her pulse, gauge exactly what his touch did to her by the speed of her heartbeat …
No, shit, what was he thinking? He couldn’t, not given how vulnerable she was and what his role was here. He was supposed to be protecting her, not thinking about fucking her. Hell, if his father knew what Van was thinking, the old bastard would turn in his grave.
The old bastard is why you’re here in the first place. Why she’s in danger in the first place.
That was true. Noah had lied to her, he’d lied to them both. So who the fuck cared what he thought?
Except, Noah wasn’t the only reason this was a terrible idea. She was a good ten years younger than he was and while she’d been pouring her soul into that ranch, protecting it and making it grow, he’d been learning how to kill people better than anyone else.
And all that wasn’t even considering what he could give her beyond sex, which wasn’t anything at all. After this was over he was going back to base, and that’s where he wanted to stay. He had no room in his life for anything beyond a one-night stand, and if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Chloe Tate needed more than that.
She needed more than he’d ever be able to give.
“No.” The word was far rougher around the edges than he wanted it to be. “I’m sorry, pretty, but it’s not going to happen.”
She stared at him, her eyes dark as strong espresso and just as hot, framed by thick, black, silky lashes. Her hips were pressing against his, nudging the fucking hard-on that wasn’t going away no matter how much he wanted it to, sending a streak of fire licking up his spine in response.
“Van, I … need this.” There was a hesitancy in her voice now, the fragility she’d kept so well protected all laid out for him to see. “Please. I just … need you.”
She was trembling, as if the words had been hard for her to say and she was afraid of his reaction, the shake of her slight body where it pressed to his making everything inside him clench tight like a fist in response.
It had been so fucking long since anyone had needed him, since he’d let anyone need him. And he’d told himself that was a good thing. He didn’t want to be responsible for another vulnerable woman needing him to protect her, just like he hadn’t wanted to be the figurehead of a company for an old man who’d needed a cipher, not a son.
But it turned out that something deep inside him did want it after all. Some part of him that craved to be trusted, to be leaned on, to be turned to. And not because he was someone’s commander or because he was some orphan kid who somehow fitted the bill, but because they wanted him.
So how could he deny her? She was looking at him without that prickly anger, without all the pretense, naked need burning in her eyes, and he just couldn’t find it in him to
say no.
Yeah, because you want this as badly as she does.
But Van didn’t want to think about that, so he forced it from his head as he slowly guided her hands behind her, crossing her wrists in the small of her back and holding them there with one hand. Then he lifted the other hand to her face, cupping the petal softness of her cheek. Her eyes widened, then she shivered. “Does that mean yes?”
Sliding his fingers along her jaw and into the silky tangle of her hair, he tugged her head back. “Why, Chloe? Why me?”
“B-Because I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” She was still trembling, and her voice sounded just as unsteady. “I need … something. Someone.”
He didn’t quite know what he wanted to hear, he only knew that he wanted more than that. “There are plenty of other men out there. You don’t need me.”
“I do.” Her lashes fluttered, veiling the sudden flash of pain in her eyes. “You were right. I … missed you. And I’m scared and I’m lonely, and I want…” She stopped short then looked away, as if afraid she’d said too much.
Jesus Christ, she had missed him. Fuck, he hadn’t known how badly he’d wanted to hear that from her until she’d said it. And then there was the fact that she was lonely. Which didn’t make any sense to him. How? Why? She had a busy job on the ranch, surrounded by a lot of people. Did she really not have anyone?
For some reason it hurt to think that she didn’t, to imagine her isolated and alone, without anyone to turn to.
She can turn to you.
Yes, she could. Hell, he couldn’t refuse her, not after that. If she wanted him, she could fucking have him.
“It’s okay.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “It’s okay, pretty. You want me, you got me. But only this one time. Are we clear?” It couldn’t be more than that, for both their sakes.
She took a shaky breath, staring back at him, all hunger and stark need. “Yes. We’re clear.”
Tell yourself it’s all about giving her what she wants, that it’s not about what you want too.
Yeah and he was done listening to that voice. He was a SEAL commander and once he made a decision, he stuck to it.
Van tightened his grip on her hair, kept a firm hold of her wrists, then bent his head and covered her mouth.
CHAPTER NINE
Chloe was shaking so badly she felt like she was coming apart at the seams. His body was so hot it felt like she was pressed up against a furnace. And he was hard too, a wall of unyielding muscle that had felt smooth and firm when she’d touched him. God, she could still feel the lingering warmth of his skin against her fingertips, like a burn yet without the pain. It made her desperate to touch him again.
But now he was kissing her and this time it was different than before, when she’d been the one to pull his mouth down on hers. She hadn’t known what she was doing then, since although Jason had been fairly experienced, they hadn’t done much in the way of kissing. She hadn’t even known why she’d kissed Van in the first place, only aware that the hunger inside her needed an outlet, needed to be fed. And she was so tired of trying to keep it contained.
She’d wanted Sullivan Tate ever since she was sixteen, and it seemed abruptly clear that she’d never stopped wanting him. Even when she’d decided to use Jason to get rid of her unwanted desire, thinking she only felt that way about Van because he’d been the first man she’d seen without a shirt.
She thought she’d gotten it out of her system, and because he’d spent the last eight years away from the ranch, she hadn’t had a chance to test it out. Apparently though, that desire wasn’t as out of her system as she’d thought. Now it burned inside her, raging out of control. His mouth on hers only made the fire blaze higher.
She leaned into him, pressing herself up against the wall of his body, loving how small and fragile she felt in comparison to his strength and size. It was unbearably exciting, making her want to push on his chest, test that strength for herself. Except he was holding her wrists in an unbreakable grip.
Frustrated, she put her head back instead, encouraging him to take the kiss deeper, intensify it. But he didn’t take any notice of the invitation, lightly brushing his lips over hers then tracing the line of her lower lip with his tongue.
“More.” She rose on her toes to increase the contact, opening her mouth beneath his. “Please, more.”
Van shook his head and pulled back, his lips close and yet agonizingly out of reach. She tried to follow, only to have his grip on her wrists tighten, holding her still. “No.” His voice was a soft rumble of sound that she felt deep in her chest and further down too, to the ache between her thighs. “If you want me, we do this my way, understand?”
She couldn’t tear her gaze from his mouth, long and sensual and wicked. “Okay.” She was ready to agree to anything as long as he kissed her with that beautiful mouth again. “Just … hurry.”
“Oh no, I’m not hurrying.” His thumb stroked along her cheekbone. “Not with you.”
She wanted to protest, but then he was bending his head again, his lips brushing over hers once more and a moan she couldn’t stop broke from her. It sounded so helpless and needy she would have been embarrassed if she’d been thinking straight. But she wasn’t thinking straight, because he was kissing her again, touching his tongue to her lower lip, beginning to explore. The heat of him was incredible. Another tremble shook her and she opened her mouth, her tongue meeting his, desperately trying to deepen the kiss yet again. He tasted so good, an intense flavor like dark, bittersweet chocolate. There was a hard, alcoholic kick to it too, like whiskey or brandy.
She could get drunk on his kisses if only he’d let her.
Chloe made an impatient sound, straining against his hold, arching insistently into him so the aching tips of her nipples came into contact with his hard chest, the unmistakable growing ridge behind his zipper nudging between her thighs and sending tiny bolts of electricity along her nerve endings.
God, she was so tired of resisting this. So tired of pretending she was okay, tired of feeling nothing but anger. She wanted more than that. She wanted him. Right now. Here. On the floor. Or hell, anywhere. As long as she was naked and he was too, and he was inside her, touching her everywhere, she didn’t care.
But he didn’t seem to notice the urgent sounds she was making, resolutely failing to take all her hints, continuing to explore her mouth with such careful, gentle insistence she wanted to scream. Bastard. He was going to drive her insane, wasn’t he?
Losing patience, Chloe rose up on her toes again and bit his bottom lip, trying to wrest back control, make him do something, because she couldn’t go on like this, she just couldn’t.
He jerked his head back, growling, the sound a low warning that sent a burst of adrenaline rushing through her, making her heartbeat thump hard in her ears.
She looked up at him, her pulse going wild with anticipation.
The gold in his eyes had deepened, gleaming from underneath his lashes, a molten color that heated everything inside her almost to boiling point. “Naughty girl.” His grip on her jaw tightened, turning her head slowly but surely away, exposing the side of her neck. “No biting. I said we’re going slow.”
“I don’t want slow.” She strained against his hold, trying to turn her head back to look at him and failing. “I need you, Van. Now.”
“I know what you need.” There was heat against her exposed neck, the prickle of his stubble, and then the softness of his mouth brushing her skin, making her shiver. “Trust me.”
Trust him …
Yes, she did trust him. She’d always trusted him.
There came the hot lick of his tongue, rough as a cat’s, and his teeth, lightly grazing the tendons at the side of her neck, and she couldn’t breathe for the intensity of her reaction.
She shuddered. “Van … please…”
He said nothing, biting her gently instead, a punishment and a warning, making her groan. Making her shift her hips against the tantalizing ridge behi
nd his zipper, rubbing up against him. Oh, he was killing her. She was literally going to die of need right here, right now.
She sobbed a little as he bit her again, not caring if he heard as she pulled against his imprisoning hand, feeling frantic and desperate and half-scared by the power of the need blazing inside her, its intensity overwhelming.
Then his voice was in her ear, his mouth brushing her skin, “It’s okay. I’ll make it better, pretty thing.” And he let go of her wrists, his hands coming to rest on her hips before gathering her up, shaking, into his arms.
Instantly she twisted into him, seeking relief or reassurance, she wasn’t sure which, sliding her palms up that magnificent chest of his and around his neck, shifting to wrap her legs around his lean hips and press herself against his muscular heat. Then she turned her face into his throat and put her mouth over the pulse that beat strong and steady there, tasting the clean, salty flavor of his skin.
He cursed softly, his muscles tensing. “Stop that. Or else I put you down right now.”
But she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to keep kissing him, keep tasting him, needing his flavor in her mouth. Yet he sounded dead serious and when she looked up, his jaw was set, a dangerous glitter in his eyes.
Oh yes, he was pretty fucking serious. He meant exactly what he said.
Having him put her down didn’t bear thinking about, so she turned her cheek to his chest instead, listening to the beat of his heart instead as he turned and carried her out of the living room, going down the hallway to a room that was obviously one of Lucas’s guest bedrooms.
There was a bed up against one wall and Van carried her over to it then laid her on the thick white comforter before following her down. Then she was surrounded by fierce, rough, masculine heat as his body covered hers, his hips settling between her thighs, his weight slowly coming to rest on her, pressing her down on the bed in the most delicious way. He had himself braced on his forearms, looking down at her, the expression in his eyes so intense she would have caught flame there and then if she hadn’t been burning like a torch already.
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