O’Connell jerked around when he opened the door, her hands curved into claws as though she were expecting to fight, but she relaxed when she saw it was him.
He deposited their things on a nearby chair and kicked off his shoes. Kneeling in front of her, he removed the killer stilettos from her feet. The leather had left marks around her ankles, and he gently massaged the angry red welts.
“C’mon,” he said, rising and pulling O’Connell to her feet.
He led her into the bathroom and started the shower running, adjusting the temperature until it was nice and hot. After checking that there were plenty of towels, he unwrapped the soap for her.
O’Connell stood, silently watching him. Erik was sure she was still in shock. If he got her clean and warm, she’d be okay. She had to be.
Erik frowned as he examined her dress. No zipper or buttons. Okay. Guess it just went over her head then.
He remembered how much he’d wanted to strip this dress off her last night. Somehow, this hadn’t been the scenario he’d imagined.
Once she was naked, he tried to keep his eyes above her neck as he helped her into the shower. The warm spray hit her skin, and she seemed to stir from her stupor, turning her face up to the water. In seconds, her hair was streaming with water and her body seemed to relax. Erik breathed a sigh of relief and turned to go, but she stopped him with a single word.
“Stay.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Erik swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry as dust. He couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping. The water sluiced like a lover’s hands over her skin, her shoulders, her breasts, before rippling down her abdomen and disappearing between her thighs. With effort, he lifted his eyes to hers.
“If I stay, I’ll make love to you,” he said baldly. His voice was a rasp of sound. “I won’t be able to stop this time. And you don’t need that. You need to recover and rest.”
“All I need is you,” she said simply.
Indecision kept him immobile. O’Connell stepped close to him, close enough for him feel the heat from the water on her skin. He couldn’t look away from her eyes, so green and full of trust as she looked at him. It made him want to kiss her until she knew without a doubt what he felt for her. No matter what.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she said softly. She began slipping the buttons from his shirt, one by one.
Erik could no longer keep from touching her. While she worked assiduously on removing his shirt, he reached out to rest his hands on her waist. She felt so fragile, her bones small compared to his. He hated the thought of all she’d had to endure on her own, hated the fact that she’d been blackmailed into nearly forfeiting her own life for her unworthy and ungrateful brother.
O’Connell tugged his shirt free of his jeans and rose on her toes to push it off his shoulders. He had to briefly remove his hands from her to get the shirt off, and he did so with irritation, yanking it off and dropping it to the floor.
She started on his belt, but Erik barely noticed. His mouth was at her shoulder, tasting the warm, sweet skin there. She sighed softly, encouraging him.
Impatient now, with the blood thundering in his veins, Erik quickly shed his remaining clothes before stepping into the shower with her.
Steam shrouded them, the air currents swirling the misty vapor and making it appear as though Erik had fallen into an otherworldly dream. Though he doubted he could ever have dreamed someone as amazing as O’Connell.
Her cheek was black-and-blue from where Finnegan had struck her. Erik bent down to her, lightly cupping her jaw as he brushed his lips gently across the abused skin, as though he could heal the damage by the sheer force of his will.
A washcloth hung on the nearby rack, and Erik picked it up, wetting it before carefully wiping the dried blood from her face and hand. Taking the soap, he lathered his hands and set the bar aside. He began at her fingers, gently using his hands to wash her. When he was empty of soap, he lathered again, learning every inch of her skin, every curve, dip, and hollow.
Erik touched her as though she were made of the finest porcelain, as priceless and beautiful as she was delicate and rare. Her heartbeat raced under his palm, her little panting breaths and sighs a melody to his ears. The full globes of her breasts were slippery under his soap-covered hands, their feminine weight filling his palms. His thumbs brushed the rosy tips, eliciting a moan from O’Connell.
He bent his head, reverently touching his tongue to a nipple. O’Connell gasped, and he licked the warm, wet peak before taking it fully into his mouth. His hands gently massaged her rear while he suckled her breasts, her moans and whimpers urging him on.
Dropping to his knees, the spray of the water hit his back as he again lathered his hands. She was a slick, wet heat between her legs, so aroused that she cried out at the mere brush of his fingers. Erik’s aching cock twitched at the sound.
He urged her legs wide, needing to see her, taste her. She complied, her fingers digging into his shoulders as his tongue parted the flesh bared to him.
Erik worshipped her with his mouth, prolonging her pleasure even as she panted and begged him, bringing her to the edge again and again. He intimately tortured her until her entire body trembled beneath his hands and his name fell in a constant litany from her lips. Only then did he allow her release, sliding a finger inside her heat and sucking her tender flesh until she screamed and her nails dug into his skin.
Clarissa’s legs felt unable to hold her weight, the wall at her back and Langston’s hand on her hip the only things keeping her upright. Opening her eyes, she looked down. He was still on his knees, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her abdomen. She could feel his finger still inside her, languidly moving in and out.
Loosening her grip on his shoulders, she threaded her fingers through his wet hair. He turned to look up at her. Their gaze caught and held. The blue of his eyes held her mesmerized. Her breath caught on a gasp as he pushed another finger inside her. The blazing passion in his eyes branded her even as his touch marked her.
“Make love to me,” she said.
Langston didn’t waste any time. Standing, he scooped her in his arms and carried her to the bed. Their bodies were wet, but Clarissa was beyond caring. She wanted Langston, needed to feel him on her, inside her.
He kissed her as he settled between her legs, and she could feel the hard length of him against her thigh.
“Hurry,” she breathed against his lips.
His hands grasped her hips as he slowly pushed inside her. Too slow. Clarissa made a noise of frustration, lifting her hips to take more of him. Langston groaned, lifting his head to look at her.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped.
“Either you think I’m really fragile or you have a very high opinion of yourself,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.
His lips twitched. Then he was kissing her again, claiming her mouth as he claimed her body. And if he didn’t have a high opinion of himself, Clarissa certainly did. His cock was as spectacular as the rest of him and worth the wait. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers threading through his hair as his tongue mimicked the movement of their bodies.
Clarissa’s heart was racing, or was that his? Their chests pressed together until she couldn’t tell his heartbeat from her own. Langston tore his mouth from hers, his breath a hard pant against her skin.
“Oh God oh God oh God.” Clarissa squeezed her eyes shut. It was perfect. He was perfect. The magic he’d done to her body in the shower was building again. “Harder. Faster,” she begged.
Langston complied, his hips pistoning into hers, his arms imprisoning her. Clarissa’s body was on fire, whimpers and moans escaping her. “Erik, oh God,” she cried out, her orgasm crashing through her.
His mouth swallowed her cries as he continued to thrust, his cock thicker and harder than before. His body jerked into hers, pushing her over the edge again. Clarissa’s nails dug into Langston’s back, his hoarse shout muffled by their kiss.
“I’m too heavy,” he said, bracing himself on his elbows.
“I like it,” Clarissa said. A sheen of sweat covered his skin, and she lightly ran her fingers down his back.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then the corner of her eye, her cheek, her lips. Looking in her eyes, he brushed her hair back from her face. His gaze was intense, reminding Clarissa of how he’d touched her in the shower, as though this was more to him than just sex.
This was just sex, right?
“Langston,” she began.
“Erik,” he corrected softly, brushing his lips along her jaw.
“Erik,” she said. “That was amazing—”
“I thought I had too high an opinion of myself,” he interrupted, gently biting then sucking her earlobe.
“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” Clarissa said bluntly.
“Considering as how you can’t remember the other sex you’ve had, I’m not sure that says all that much, but I’ll take it in the manner in which it was intended.”
Langston’s teasing made her smile, but his arms were still locked tight around her, his body covering hers, as though he wanted to still maintain the connection with her, even after the act itself was over.
Her stomach twisted. This couldn’t happen. He was behaving as though this meant something, as though this changed things.
“Erik,” she said carefully. “I know we just went through an intense time, this morning, but let’s not…make this more than what it is.”
He froze, lifting his head to look at her. “What?” His incredulity might have been tinged with anger.
Clarissa licked suddenly dry lips. “I’m just saying, I don’t want you thinking that this means something more.”
“I’m still inside you and you’re already giving me the ‘let’s just be friends’ speech?”
Okay, no mistaking the anger that time.
“I didn’t say that, exactly, I just—”
“You’re trying to pretend this is just physical,” he interrupted.
Clarissa heaved a frustrated breath. “It’s been a tense few days, Langston. We’ve been together constantly, in life-and-death situations. It’s only natural we’d end up in bed together.”
He abruptly pulled back, sitting up on the bed and turning away from her. Clarissa sat up too, grabbing a pillow to shield her nakedness. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of him.
Langston shoved a hand through his hair and blew out a frustrated sigh. He glanced at her. “So you’re going to try and tell me that you bargained for my life because you…what? Were grateful for my help? I don’t buy it, Clarissa.”
Clarissa squirmed uncomfortably under his steady gaze.
“I don’t buy that you don’t feel more for me than that. Look at me,” he said when her gaze fell. “Look me in the eye and tell me that.”
When Clarissa didn’t respond, he moved closer, tipping her chin up so she was forced to look at him. His blue eyes seemed to see into her, through her. “Tell me.”
“Stop it!” she snapped, jerking away. “Be logical about this, Langston. What do you think is going to happen, can possibly happen, between us? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a thief with a hundred-million-dollar bounty on my head. Do you think there’s any kind of future for people like me?”
“There can be.”
Pain twisted inside Clarissa. Hope. He was offering her hope. Hope was a dangerous thing. Dangerous and ephemeral. Better to believe in fairy tales than hope.
“Then you’re even more foolish than I thought,” she said quietly.
Langston looked as if she’d hit him, then seemed to recover, his expression turning to cold, hard granite.
“Who are you trying to protect?” he hissed. “Me? Or yourself?”
Then he was gone, disappearing inside the bathroom with a slam of the door.
Clarissa huddled on the bed, her knees to her chest. She’d hurt him. She hadn’t meant to, didn’t want to. But it was better for him to not be under any illusions now as to how this was going to end.
Tears stung her eyes, and she hurriedly blinked them back. Langston was right, she did care about him. Too much. It terrified her, though she couldn’t put her finger on why exactly, just a panicked, twisted feeling on the inside.
Feelings couldn’t be trusted, not his or her own. Feelings changed, were fickle, undependable. The only thing that could be trusted was what you had to offer in exchange for loyalty. Right now, Langston needed her to prove his innocence. Once he didn’t need her anymore, the tie between them would dissolve, no matter what she felt for him.
No matter how in love she was.
The realization struck her with the force of a sucker punch. She was falling in love with Langston. She would have laughed at the absurdity if she could have drawn a breath.
Langston walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his lean hips. He ignored her, going to the pile of clothes he’d brought in from the car. Dropping the towel, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt.
Clarissa couldn’t take her eyes off him as he dressed. He was beautiful, the muscles in his back and thighs flexing and rippling as he moved. He’d run his fingers through his hair to comb it, the thick, dark strands still damp. His jaw was shadowed again with a day’s growth of whiskers.
God, she wished she could keep him.
“I’ll be back,” he said, heading for the door.
“Wait! Where are you going?” She practically fell off the bed in her haste to stop him. Was he lying? Would he really be back? Or had he finally decided to ditch her? Clarissa didn’t stop to examine why the thought of him leaving sent her into such a panic. She didn’t want to.
“To find some food,” he replied, his voice clipped. His gaze dragged down her body.
Clarissa flushed, wishing she’d kept the pillow as armor. She nervously crossed her arms over her breasts; her nakedness made her too acutely aware of what they’d just done.
His eyes darkened at the gesture and his jaw clenched tight. He stepped into her personal space, forcing her to lift her chin to look at him.
“You can try to shield yourself from me and pretend there’s nothing between us but a survival instinct, but I know all about you, Clarissa O’Connell, and a week ago, I would have arrested you without a second thought. But it’s too late now. I’ve seen the good and the bad, your weaknesses and strengths, and I want you in spite of and because of them.” He paused, adding more gently, “We’ve both changed, and there is no changing back.”
Then he was gone.
Clarissa rubbed her face, trying to hold it together in the face of what he’d just said. “I have got to get a grip,” she muttered to herself. She had grown too dependent on Langston, the words he’d said to her making her chest ache. The thought of him leaving sent her into a tailspin.
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, inspecting the damage done by Finnegan. She tried not to dwell on how Langston had saved her from him, risking his own life to do so, and how he’d taken care of her when she was too much in shock to do so herself. These feelings she had for him, they did nothing but make her weak. And though he may not agree, any feelings he had for her made him weak too. She knew it even if he refused to acknowledge it.
Maybe he’s telling the truth, a little voice whispered inside her head. Maybe it was real, what he’d said.
But it didn’t matter if he believed it or not. When feelings dictated actions, there was always a risk. The only thing that could be depended on was someone looking out for their own self-interest. That was a universal truth that applied to everyone, even a man as good and honorable as Langston.
* * *
Erik placed the tray of food Mrs. Cooper had prepared for him down on the coffee table near the fireplace. The room had a chill in the ai
r, and he could hear the water running in the bathroom. O’Connell would be cold. He flicked the switch on the wall, and the fireplace sprang to life, the flames dancing across the fake logs.
He sank into a chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the fire. He’d had time to cool off now, and he thought again of what she’d said to him.
The sweat hadn’t even dried on their bodies before she was putting an emotional distance between them, demanding he acknowledge that it had meant nothing. At first, he’d been hurt, angry, confused. It had taken stepping back and looking at the situation from the outside in for him to see.
Erik knew a lot about Clarissa O’Connell. He’d been tracking her, studying her, for over a year. Given the dreams she’d shared with him and the time he’d spent with her, he knew even more now.
A woman like her didn’t survive the world she inhabited without developing a healthy distrust of everyone and everything. Erik imagined she’d learned that lesson the hard way, and had ingrained the belief that the only person she could count on was herself. Well, she was wrong about that. She wasn’t alone, not anymore, and he’d prove that to her…somehow.
And pray her memory didn’t return.
The bathroom door opened, and O’Connell stepped out. She was wrapped in a robe, her hair a damp mass of tangles. She eyed him, judging his mood, he supposed.
“Come eat,” he said. “You’ve got to be starving.”
She obeyed, coming to sit on the rug in front of the fire. The tray he’d brought held grapes, strawberries, crackers and assorted cheeses, and a bottle of Perrier with two glasses. Erik watched as she perused the selection before making her choices.
Sitting cross-legged, O’Connell munched on her plateful of goodies, absentmindedly running her fingers through the tangles in her hair as she watched the fire.
“Are you angry?”
She spoke so quietly, still staring into the flames, Erik wouldn’t have even heard had he not been watching her so intently.
He shook his head. “No.”
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