by Anne Stuart
He’d hurt people before. Innocent people, ones who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he’d never felt this way. He did what needed to be done, and he didn’t waste his time second-guessing his actions. Parker had been holding something back, something important, and her time had run out. He’d needed an answer, fast, and he got it the only way he knew how.
She should count her blessings, he thought bitterly. He could have hurt her a lot more, gotten the answers even more quickly. Or he could have seduced her into telling him.
That possibility had been teasing him for days. He was past denying it—it was a simple fact of nature that he wanted her. There was something about her that drew him, and if he could figure out what it was, he’d have a better chance of fighting it. That, or give in to it.
He suspected she would have hated sexual coercion even more. Physical betrayal was bad enough. If he’d taken her to bed and forced the truth that way, she’d be in far worse shape than she was.
He wasn’t squeamish—sex was as good a weapon as anything else, and he used it when he needed to. He’d had a very good reason not to fuck Parker into giving up her secrets. He’d wanted to.
He presented a cold, unemotional exterior to those around him, but some of the things he’d done for the Committee ranged from painful to despicable. If he’d taken Parker to bed in order to get her secrets, he’d have liked it too much, and the betrayal would have been too devastating. He knew full well how physical abuse could shatter someone’s sense of self. She might not know it, but if he’d used sex, used pleasure instead of pain, she’d be in much worse shape.
But that didn’t change the fact that he’d marked her! How the hell had that happened? He’d always been able to judge the amount of pressure, just how much to hurt someone to get the truth, never to go beyond that point. Somehow he’d miscalculated, hurt her worse than he’d planned, hurt her so badly she trembled when he touched her, shook when he was close. Ms. Jennifer Parker, Esquire, wasn’t someone who broke easily—he, of all people, should know that. But he’d broken her. It was up to him to mend her.
He didn’t dare go far from the seedy inn—there was no telling who was watching them. He wasn’t naïve enough to think their arrival in Calliveria had gone unnoticed, and Parker would need protection whether she wanted it or not. She wanted to save Soledad, and he knew perfectly well she wanted to get hold of that cell phone and the secrets it held. It was his job to keep it out of her hands. In the end he didn’t give a shit about her slimy brother. There was information on that smartphone that would help anyone who wanted to take the place of His Eminence and the Corsini family with their human-trafficking empire, and he couldn’t allow such a volatile weapon to fall into the wrong hands. His job was to stop anyone before they got too solid a foothold in the filthy business, and he needed that smartphone.
All Parker could see was her baby brother, and he couldn’t really fault her for that. She was seeing him with the eyes of an older sister, not impartially. She still clung to the pathetic belief that her brother hadn’t known what he was doing.
Billy Gauthier had to have known exactly what kind of harm his actions had caused, and he didn’t care. He’d continue, simply because he’d gotten away with it, and with the Gauthier connections the trafficking could soon become just as widespread as it had been with the Corsinis. Ryder wasn’t going to let that happen, no matter what the cost.
And that cost was Parker, lying huddled and bruised in a bed in a cheap motel in a third-world country. She was terrified of him, and he had no idea how to get her past that, or if it was even possible. He only knew he had to try.
The room was dark and silent when he came back in an hour later, a bottle of cheap whiskey in one hand, compliments of the nearest cantina. He didn’t dare get drunk—in fact he doubted he even could—but he needed something to take the edge off his self-loathing. What he should do was send Parker back home, have Remy keep watch over her while he did the dirty work.
But he didn’t want the womanizing Remy anywhere near her. He didn’t want her out of his sight. For all he knew she’d stumble into even more trouble in her desperation to save her brother from the consequences of his actions.
He set the bottle down on the table between the beds and kicked off his shoes. Yanking his T-shirt over his head, he stripped off his jeans, watching her body in the bed. He might almost believe she was asleep but for the faint tremor that shook the smooth surface of the covers.
He took another slug of whiskey, reached for the covers, and climbed into bed with her.
She erupted in panic, hitting at him, but he subdued her easily enough, wrapping his arms around to her to keep her from flailing, one of his legs keeping hers from kicking and kneeing him. He’d been prepared to put his hand over her mouth, but she was smart enough not to scream. She just keep fighting, and he let her wear herself out as he held her, her desperate struggles weakening, then fading away into a quiet, panting watchfulness. At least she’d stopped shaking so badly.
“That’s better,” he said quietly.
That provoked another flurry of struggles, and by the time she fell back she was totally out of breath and absolutely furious. Excellent. She could either be mad at him or afraid of him, and he wanted mad.
“Are you done now?” he demanded.
“Get the fuck out of my bed,” she said in a low, dangerous voice. “Get away from me, don’t touch me, don’t speak to me.”
“Or what?”
In response she tried to knee him in the groin, but he was too fast for her, slamming her legs back down with his. “You know, that would really piss me off if you connected,” he said mildly.
“Get away from me,” she said.
“Not likely. We’re not going to carry this off if you don’t get used to me, and I figure the only way that’s going to happen is a little aversion therapy. You may hate me, but you need to act like we’re in love. You look like a terrified rabbit every time I come near you, and even in this backwards country where men rule the roost, your panic seems extreme. You can’t be looking at me like I’m Jack the Ripper whenever you think no one will notice, and you can’t shake like a leaf whenever I touch you.”
A stray tremor ran over her body, but he simply held her tighter, careful not to hurt her bruised arm. She closed her eyes, looking exhausted and miserable. “Please,” she said, “just leave me alone.”
“I can’t do that. It’s just the two of us down here, and I need to know I can count on you. That you’ll obey orders, that you’ll use your impressive brain and stop acting with your heart. Yes, you want to save Soledad. Yes, you want to protect your brother. Yes, you’re afraid of me . . .”
Her eyes flew open. “No, I’m not!” she protested, another shiver giving the lie to her words.
He allowed himself a wry smile. “Could have fooled me. I’m not going to hurt you again. I told you that.”
“And you think I trust you?” She was relaxing more and more as they talked, his body warm against hers in the dark room. “You must be crazy.”
“You trust me, at least a little bit, or you wouldn’t have come with me.”
“I trust you not to kill me, and that’s about it. You weren’t even in the equation when I insisted on coming to Calliveria. It’s Soledad I care about.”
“And your brother’s cell phone,” he reminded her.
She bit her lower lip, and he could feel himself getting hard. He hoped she didn’t notice—she might think his attraction to her gave her some kind of power. It didn’t.
“The cell phone is the least of my worries. I don’t want Billy mixed up in trafficking any more than you do. I want it destroyed so it won’t be of use to anyone.”
“And I need it in one piece. One major bust won’t get rid of human trafficking, but it’s a start.” He could feel her heart beat against him. It had begun to slow, not to a steady pace, but at least closer to normal.
“I promise I won’t act skittish a
round you,” she said in a low voice. “Just . . . please, get out of the bed.”
“Sorry, Parker, but I’m sleeping here.”
“What?” Her voice rose slightly in horrified protest.
“Don’t worry—sex is the last thing on my mind,” he said, a complete lie. Sex was all he could think about, but he wasn’t going to do anything about it. “We’re just going to sleep together, so you can get used to me.”
“I can get used to you, I promise.” She was sounding slightly panicked, but he simply shook his head.
“This will work better. You’re just going to have to put up with it.”
“Lie back and enjoy it?” she said bitterly.
“I told you, this isn’t about sex. It’s about familiarity.”
He wanted to kiss her. She was looking at him with such distrust, and he wanted to quiet that distrust, to distract her, to take them both to that dark, dangerous place where everything fell away but the elemental connection between man and woman.
No, he reminded himself. If you screw her she’ll hate you even more. Right now they had a job to do, and all his actions needed to be in service to that job. He turned her in his arms, tempering his strength with her reluctance, and then curved his body around hers, his leg still keeping her dangerous ones away from vulnerable parts.
She put up another fight, and she lay facing away from him, panting, furious. “I thought you said this wasn’t about sex,” she said after a long moment, and he knew she could feel his erection pressing up against her delectable butt.
“I said this wasn’t about sex,” he agreed. “I didn’t say I didn’t want you.”
She froze, as if the idea were novel. “Dream on,” she said finally.
“I intend to.”
She was wearing her underwear, which left vast amounts of skin uncovered, and she felt cold to the touch. He wrapped himself tighter around her, and slowly her skin warmed, slowly her heart dropped back to a normal pace. “That’s right, Parker,” he murmured in the ear he really, really wanted to bite. “Accept the inevitable, and trust in the fact that I already hurt you enough today. I’m not about to follow through and use sex to get what I want. I promise.”
“No sex and no violence?” she echoed with a trace of her old spark. “Now why don’t I believe that?”
“You can trust my word?”
Her laugh was bitter. “Until you change your mind.”
“No. No matter what happens, no matter how important it is, I promise you I won’t hurt you again.” It was an insane promise, one he couldn’t possibly keep if the stakes were high enough, and yet he made it.
“What’s to keep you from breaking your promise?”
“I make very few promises in this life,” he said after a moment. “Those I make, I keep.”
“You promise you won’t hurt me or . . . or try to seduce me?” she said in a small voice, her warm, sleek body still stiff in his arms.
“That’s not what I said and you know it. I said I wouldn’t hurt you. As for the rest, we’ll see what happens.” He kept his hands where they were, holding her against him, when he wanted nothing more than to slide them up her sleek torso to that damnable bra and slip it off her. “When two people are as strongly attracted as we are, then chances are something’s going to happen.”
“I’m not attracted to you. I hate you.”
“I believe you on the second. As for the first, I could prove you otherwise, but I’m too tired. Go to sleep, Parker. I’m not letting you go, so you’re just going to have to get used to it.”
“I hate you.”
“Don’t repeat yourself—it gets tiresome. Go to sleep, Parker. Or I just might change my mind.”
He could feel reaction shoot through her body. Alarm, and something else that she refused to recognize. Getting her warm and wet and willing was going to be an uphill battle, but he had every confidence of winning. In the meantime, he just needed to sleep.
Ryder actually expected her to sleep like this, with his big strong body wrapped around her and long bare legs entwined with hers? He was insane.
Damn him. If it were up to her, she’d never let him anywhere near her again. But it wasn’t up to her, and she realized with disgust that she was no longer trembling. Whether she wanted to believe him or not, apparently her body recognized when someone wasn’t a threat, and her muscles were slowly relaxing back against him, too weary to fight any longer. Her arm hurt, but by chance he’d managed to keep from making it worse in their struggles . . .
No, it wasn’t by chance. Ryder didn’t do things by chance. He knew he’d hurt her, he’d done it deliberately, but she had the sense he was shocked by her bruises. Maybe the other times he’d tortured women he hadn’t had to watch them undress afterward and see the results of his abuse.
No, scratch that. A man like Ryder could talk a ninety-year-old nun into bed, she had little doubt. There was an odd intimacy between them now, once they’d shared those moments of pain. It was sick, but it was the truth, and Jenny always believed in facing the truth head on. She wanted him to promise not to try to have sex with her, for the simple reason that sooner or later she’d give in. Even if her brain was screaming no, her body was molding itself to his in soft, animal acceptance.
His breathing had changed, and she knew he was asleep. She had to get away from him before she made a total fool of herself, and she tried to inch away, slowly and carefully so she wouldn’t wake him up.
His arms tightened around her immediately. “I’m a very light sleeper,” he murmured, “and I wake up crabby. Stay still and go to sleep.”
“I can’t!” she said. “I’m too uncomfortable.” Her body seemed to fit back against his perfectly, but he wouldn’t know that.
“Then just hold still. I’ll know if you try to get away, and if you wake me up too many times you’ll regret it.”
“So much for your promise not to hurt me.”
“I won’t hurt you. That doesn’t mean I won’t tickle you until you promise to behave.”
The idea was so ludicrous she would have laughed if she didn’t already feel so vulnerable. “I hate being tickled.”
“Then stay still.”
To her astonishment his breathing slowed almost immediately, and she knew he was asleep once more. He was such a robot he’d probably trained his body to do exactly what he said. She had little doubt he slept just as lightly as he’d told her, and there was nothing she could do about her current position. She sighed, releasing some of the tension still inside her, and her body relaxed against his a little bit more. In fact, the bed wasn’t that uncomfortable, and neither was Ryder. She might even be able to fall asleep after a few hours of frustration. She certainly was tired enough. The thought of sleeping in Matthew Ryder’s arms was so absurd she wanted to laugh, but she simply moved closer, cursing herself as she did so, and tried to keep her eyes open, her anger hot.
She failed.
Chapter Fifteen
Skin. Warm, sleek, smooth skin beneath her mouth, her fingertips, the heat and hardness of him. Erotic dreams danced through her mind with elegant solemnity—every touch, every taste a climax waiting to happen. Every inch of her was sensitized, on fire, ready for him. She heard her quiet moan through the veils of sleep and knew she was on the verge of exploding. She could feel his heart beating against hers, a steady, solid counterpoint to her own rushed tempo, and she wanted more, so much more, from the stranger in her bed, the man she refused to recognize, the man she wanted with such fierce need she thought she might burn up.
His hand slid behind her neck, under her fall of hair, and she could feel the roughness of calluses, the strength in those long fingers as he tilted her face up to meet his, and she waited, ready to kiss him back, ready to take what she wanted with no excuse or justification.
“Parker, wake up,” he whispered, his mouth a fraction of an inch away from hers.
She opened her eyes to the murky light, to the face of the man beneath her, to Ryder’s eyes w
atching her steadily, to his mouth that was so close. She’d somehow managed to end up sprawled on top of him in her sleep, and he was warm and strong and hard beneath her. Very hard.
She didn’t move, frozen, staring at the mouth that had done such wicked, wondrous things to her in her sleep, the mouth that had never touched her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and tried to slide off him.
His other arm came up around her, holding her in place. “Who were you dreaming about, Parker?” His voice was low and sinuous. “You were making the most delicious noises.”
She racked her brain, trying to come up with some ridiculous name, but she was too caught in a sensuous haze, and all she could think of was him. “I . . . No one,” she stammered.
“It’s warm in this bed, and your nipples are hard. Were you just reacting to me?”
Her entire body felt on fire. They were both practically nude—her stomach against his, her legs twined with his long ones, her hands clutching his shoulders, not letting go him.
Her brain wasn’t working. Jet lag or lack of sleep or too much stress—all of them had taken their toll. She couldn’t think, couldn’t judge; she could only feel, only know what she wanted to feel, and that was Ryder’s mouth on hers.
He stared up at her. A moment later he moved, turning her beneath him, half on top of her, holding her in place. “I can get up,” he said quietly. “I can get in the other bed, right now, and leave you alone. That’s the smart thing to do.”
She said nothing. He was heavy, a good kind of heavy, on top of her, and he was between her legs, his erection pressing up against her insistently. “Tell me to be smart, Parker,” he whispered, his mouth hovering above hers. “Because right now I think brains are highly overrated.”
She opened her mouth to tell him to get off of her. She opened her mouth to tell him no. She opened her mouth to the man who’d hurt her, and she lifted up and pressed it against his.
His reaction was instantaneous. He cupped her face, holding her still, and slid his tongue between her teeth, an intimacy that startled her into even greater arousal. He kissed her with such thoroughness, his tongue dancing, tasting, teasing, and she heard her soft little whimper of response as her fingers tightened on his shoulders and she closed her eyes. She could go on like this forever, lost in the glory of his mouth, the feel of his teeth against her lower lip, tugging, then using his tongue to gentle it.
