Tall, Dark and Damaged (Damaged Heroes #1)

by Sarah Andre

  She reversed direction and headed back quickly, footsteps lost in the groaning of an ancient home under assault. Forget this. She’d finish picking up the sitting room and find Mr. Wickham to explain why the project had been interrupted again. A tremor rippled through her at the thought.

  The rain grew more furious, sounding like rocks strafing the roof. Another wave collided into the cliff with a sonic boom, and the house shuddered. “Creepy-ass place.” Hannah turned the final corner, nearing the sitting room again.

  A door behind her clicked. “There you are.”

  She spun around, a scream high in her throat. Devon stood halfway out of the fire-damaged gallery. Really? He was the only other person in this house?

  His hooded gaze swept over her. “I’ve been looking for you.” Although the storm raged overhead, his soft words carried clearly.

  Anger rose like a tidal wave. Her teeth clenched. “Go. Away.”

  He stepped fully into the hall, hands on his hips. The effect was breathtaking. Tall. Commanding. Savagely handsome. “Make me.”

  She squinted at the dichotomy. “Are you kidding me?”

  He spread his arms, exposing the sleek lines of a defenseless torso, and jerked his chin, beckoning her. Weirdly, it didn’t look like he was mocking her. The slash of those brows, the grimly set jaw… He looked as angry as she felt. When she made no move to punch him, he folded his arms, the shirt melding to his biceps. “That’s what I thought.” His tone was deep and deadly, like a lion speaking to a gazelle.

  She snapped out of her daze. “What the hell were you hoping for? That we’d wrestle like we were kids again? That you’d make me forget what a Neanderthal you are?”

  He gestured at the closed doors along the hall. “Or we can sit down and talk. Like adults.”

  It wasn’t lost on her that he was tossing her own words back in her face. She sneered at his fuckery. “We have nothing more to say to each other, Devon,” she warned. Her heart raced with the need to pummel…scratch…bite…anything that would cut through that cool layer and finally hurt him.

  “Confront me, Hannah. Let’s get this all out. Start with the ring.”

  She wanted to slap that insolence off his face.

  He wanted an argument? He had no idea what she was about to unleash. “I don’t want your goddamn ring. I don’t need your pity.” She marched over and stuck her index finger in his face. “You’re a moron if you think after the history we’ve had, I’d hock a ring meant for the woman you love! What could possibly be going on inside your head that you believe it’s even remotely acceptable behavior? I feel sorry for your ex. No, actually, I don’t! I’m delighted for her. She broke your heart! I applaud her; she’s a fucking genius.”

  One eyebrow quirked up. She couldn’t tell whether he was amazed or about to laugh. “Are you done?” he asked quietly.

  “No!” But any remaining words escaped her, and she stood there, panting, seething with unspoken snark, which made her even madder.

  He blinked. Blinked again. “It sounds like you’re done,” he said cautiously.

  That did it! She struck his chest, the impact almost snapping her wrist. Jesus! There was absolutely no give in his pecs, no hint he’d felt anything. Her other arm flew out, and suddenly, like a dam breaking loose, she pounded on that solid torso, shrieking obscenities. He stood there and took it; those deep-blue eyes watching her patiently, almost curiously, fueling her rage.

  All too soon, her upper-body strength fizzled, and with one more double thump, she staggered back, shaking with fury and exhaustion. She gasped in oxygen. Thunder roared overhead.

  “I never meant to insult you, Hannah. And God knows I never, ever wanted to hurt you the way I did.”

  “And yet that’s all you do,” she wheezed, clasping her fury like a shield. Behind it, tears threatened to well up.

  “So tell me what you want.” The corners of his eyes crinkled in frustration. “Tell me what to do.”

  She grabbed the lapels of his button-down. “I want you to leave me the fuck alone!”

  A muscle fluttered along his jaw. “No.” His dark eyelashes lowered in warning. “Pick something else.” Beneath her fists, his pecs coiled with tension, kick-starting a tremor that shivered through her. The tender teen she once knew now emanated raw masculinity and don’t-fuck-with-me dominance.

  She drew a shuddering breath. In this contest of wills, a primitive lust roared to life, joining forces with her wrath to create a crazy, combustible fuse. Sexual arousal shouldn’t belong anywhere near her insane need to hurt him, and yet the pumping endorphins tingled completely inappropriate places within her. She was at some kind of crossroads here. Time to back the hell away from whatever this was. “There is nothing else,” she said carefully.

  “Sure there is.” His intense gaze raked over her face, and settled on her mouth. “Think, Hannah.”

  Fuck it. She snatched fistfuls of his thick hair and yanked his head down, colliding into his mouth and body with such force that they slammed into the wall. Their teeth clicked on impact, and he grunted deep in his throat. She viciously thrust in a tongue, but he was ready and waiting, surging into her mouth, tasting wicked and delicious. His powerful arms snaked around her, dragging her impossibly closer. His kiss deepened to hot and dirty. He was hard, so incredibly stiff, that she paused. In that heartbeat, he took over, spinning them so she was pressed against the wall, on tiptoes.

  She fought the fog of desire rolling in to shut down her brain. She had to stay in control here; she had to stay livid. She pushed him until he gave her a sliver of breathing room, then yanked open his shirt, gaining purchase as buttons popped and pinged at her. Warm flesh and smooth muscle and sinew met her trembling palms. Sweet baby Jesus, the muscles!

  He broke off the kiss, his mouth hungrily trailing to her earlobe. “That was a new shirt.” He didn’t sound amused, which helped refuel the anger quickly losing out to lust in this bizarre love-wrestle match.

  She wrenched her head back and looked him in the eye. “Buy another one, rich boy.” She clasped the strong column of his throat and hesitated. Under her palm, he swallowed, his gaze scorching, waiting. Screw it; she could choke him later. She gripped his hard jaw; the rough evening stubble pricked her flesh. “Kiss me,” she hissed.

  His nostrils flared. “I gotta tell ya,” he muttered through his barely mobile jaw, “I’m lovin’ this angry, bossy side of you.”

  She sneered and hopped up, crossing her calves behind the small of his back, tightening her hold cruelly. He caught her butt, grinding her against his erection, mashing their bodies into the wall. She squirmed in annoyance and bliss, nipping his lips and scratching his scalp. Nothing deterred him. He was hell-bent on seduction, and that luscious tongue lapped up her anger until she was nothing but a trembling mass of crude desire.

  He tipped his head back and gulped air. “Pick a door.”

  “What?”

  He adjusted her weight impatiently. “Unless you want me to strip you down in this hallway.”

  “Yeah, right,” she muttered breathlessly. She tried for a grin and failed. She’d never seen him look so fierce, so on the brink of losing control, and that primal passion triggered delicious throbbing sensations. She squeezed her legs tighter, clamping their pelvises. Nothing could come of this; it was just good-bye sex, but it was happening. A thrill shot through her even as she shrugged like she was bored. “Whatever room you’ve been sleeping in this week.”

  “We’ll never make it that far.” He captured her lips again, and she closed her eyes, surrendering to the full-on assault. His hips ground inside her thighs as he walked them rapidly down the hall. The light softened, and she broke off the kiss and glanced around. Majestic shelves of the first editions library towered before her.

  “Not here,” she gasped. “Someone might come in.”

  “No one comes in here.” His head slanted, but she averted her face so his tongue simply assaulted her earlobe. She squirmed and shivered as aural ner
ve endings flared. His steps slowed, and the cold metal of the brass ladder rail pressed against her spine. Instinctively, she lowered her legs, standing with the strength of a newborn calf. He tugged her sweater up.

  “Devon, wait. Let’s go in the gallery. The sitting room. A room that can lock.”

  “I need you, Hannah.” His voice was a harsh rasp. “Right now.” He released the clip and tore the elastic from her hair, snatching handfuls as he anchored her head. He bent in again and trapped her mouth, soft lips grinding out rough pressure. She met his hunger head-on. She’d spent so many years craving words never said, letters never written, fantasies that had never come true. Until now. He was here and real and wanted only her. She trailed her hands down solid, shifting biceps as his fingers snaked under her waistband. Her pants button popped open.

  She jerked her mouth free once more. He was a sorcerer. How could she keep forgetting this room connected the wings? “Behind the desk, then,” she pleaded, as his teeth nipped a sharp trail from her neck to her clavicle, the bites erotic, electrifying. She arched in his embrace; her body shivering with awareness. A few more seconds and she’d accept all of him inside her, right here in the middle of the most prestigious, open room in the house. She moaned in desperation, her defenses crumbling. “Please, Devon.” He slowly raised his head, a drugged look in his dark eyes. “Fuck me behind the desk,” she whispered.

  A deafening clap of thunder answered her. The lights flickered, casting the intensity on his face into something dark and dangerous. Every cell in her body stilled. A heartbeat of time that lasted an eternity passed as a battle raged across his features. With a grunt, he swept her legs out from under her and crossed to the farthest point in the room at an effortless speed she’d have had to sprint to achieve.

  He kicked at the desk chair, which wheeled in a crazy zigzag until it bumped a shelf. Falling to his knees, he lowered her on her back then braced himself over her, searing her lips with an incinerating kiss. A shutter banged somewhere close.

  She reached down and traced his thick cock along his jeans. He whispered an obscenity, and seconds later her khakis were unceremoniously whipped off, her sweater and bra shoved up, exposing her to the cool air. He rolled and nipped and tongued the jutting peaks until she squirmed, whimpering.

  He eased back. His palms trailed down to her waist as his glazed eyes took stock of her various stages of undress. Two lower buttons were all that held his shirt together now; the rest gaped open, framing the firm contours of his chest and rigid abs. In one motion, he stripped the shirt off, rolled it into a ball, and stuck it under her head. “Lift up, Hannah.” She raised her hips, and he whisked her panties off, pausing over her mostly naked form. “Jesus, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed these.”

  Wide palms skimmed up her hips and stomach, halting at her aching breasts. He molded and squeezed the sensitive flesh again, rolling the nipples between his thumbs and fingers until they resembled hard pebbles. Her head thrashed from side to side, the desire and agony in her moans drowned out by the torrential rain battering the roof.

  “I have to taste you,” he whispered. His gaze descended to her apex. The soft touch of his hands whispered to her inner thighs, parting her wide. Two fingers slid inside her wet heat, and his thumb flickered her. She cried out, bucking, but he’d already withdrawn, leaving her aching and unfulfilled. He knelt back on his heels and stuck the fingers in his mouth. His cheeks sucked inward. He groaned and closed his eyes.

  “Devon…”

  He leaned down until their faces were centimeters apart, his aroused gaze unfocused, and did it again. A swipe of her clit, then licking his fingers like a lollipop as he watched her closely. She spread her thighs wider, quivering. “For the love of God…”

  “Complaints?”

  “Nope,” she gasped. “Just a polite request to move along.”

  He hovered over her, grinning like the devil. The banging shutter picked up its tempo, slamming as wildly as her heart. She wanted to scream. Her gaze traveled to his jeans, and the hard shape straining against the fabric. “Please fuck me.”

  He swirled the fingers in his mouth, brows knotted in contemplation.

  She rolled her eyes. “Really? ’Cause you almost took me out in the hall.”

  Those deep-blue eyes burned through her. “You’ve driven me out of my mind for days, Han.” He tugged her hips, sliding her a few inches along the scratchy Persian rug until her ass rested near his knees. “Let’s call this payback.”

  Her breath hitched as he lowered his head until he was a hairsbreadth from touchdown. Seconds passed. His warm, moist exhales tickled her most sensitive spot; his gloriously broad shoulders spanned the width of her spread thighs. The anticipation was excruciating. She whispered his name, but it disappeared in the storm. In desperation, she wriggled, and he blinked as if he was coming to. He bent down the last centimeter, sealing his mouth on her. The gentle lick of his tongue sent a thousand volts pulsating through her. She bit back a shriek and squirmed. He shifted his weight and wrapped his hands firmly around her inner thighs. Then went to work.

  Her eyes bulged at the searing intensity, and lightning promptly blinded her. She squeezed them shut, giving herself over to the feel of that clever tongue. When she thrashed from the intense pleasure, he tightened his grip, rendering her immobile. The pure helplessness only heightened her excitement. She moaned beneath him, raking her fingernails across his scalp and holding his head steady.

  He studiously brought her closer to her peak with single-minded focus. As her cries intensified and her breath began to shudder, he withdrew, laving his tongue along her inner thigh like a paintbrush.

  She gasped in outrage, straining for the simple touch of air on her throbbing button to hit her orgasm. “Shit!”

  “That’s for hoping my company goes under.”

  She let go of his scalp and reached for herself, but he snatched her wrists and pressed them on her spread thighs. “Oh, no, baby,” he said thickly. “We’ve always been great at communicating this way. Let’s keep talking. I’ve got a lot more on my mind.”

  Before a snarky reply popped to mind, he returned to his ministrations lightly, the contact and rhythm nowhere near the pressure she needed. She quaked with frustration. No doubt the ring-throwing incident, her screaming fit, and ripping his damn shirt would all be in the conversational lineup. She wouldn’t survive it.

  As he orchestrated the buildup again, she tried to steady her breath. If he didn’t know she was about to peak, he’d keep up that wicked nibbling and sucking. And the intense effort of holding in her moans and restraining the natural instinct to move beneath him enhanced the exquisite pressure. The peak was near; she had this!

  Just as her inner thighs quivered and her ass tensed, he withdrew again. She screeched filthy names and fought the viselike grip he had on her wrists. He knelt above her, stock-still and unsmiling as she lay splayed out, sweaty, and in utter anguish. “I hate you,” she panted.

  “Lies aren’t going to get you there any faster.”

  “Okay, I don’t hate you. Not at all.”

  A corner of his mouth tilted up mischievously. His lips were swollen and glistening from working her over. She wrenched her fists from his iron grasp and beat them against the rug. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I never want you to forget this…us. Ever.” The vulnerability in his eyes belied the dominance of his words and the wild force that had driven her to almost-orgasm. This was the look of a man who hadn’t gotten over her either, and hadn’t found the words to say so.

  She breathed his name and pulled him up for a deep, searching kiss.

  He relieved her of the sweater and bra, still bunched near her clavicle, then drew a nipple into his mouth, his fingers nimbly taunting the other one. He took his time roaming down her stomach, tasting every inch of her body, caressing her inner thighs as she squirmed with the need to feel him there. And when he finally landed, she almost sobbed at the slow, measured pressure of hi
s tongue.

  She wouldn’t survive a third round, and he must have sensed it, because he worked faster, watching her intently, swirling and sucking until the buildup was excruciating. She reached her peak like a rocket launch, bucking beneath him as pleasure disintegrated her. Nerve endings pulsed and quivered, electrified. She clawed at his scalp, shrieking, holding nothing back, not caring if she screamed the house down. Either the lights flickered again or she went temporarily blind as the long crest peaked and sparks ebbed.

  Her breath came in labored gasps as she floated back down.

  When her world finally ricocheted onto its axis, she opened her eyes to find him nude, sheathed, and waiting. He smiled with supreme cockiness, and one of those handsome brows quirked up as he glanced at his watch. His arrogance was too much. She gave him the finger.

  “Glad we’re on the same page,” he growled, bending his beautiful, muscled body over hers. He gripped himself at her entrance but held rigidly still above her until she met his eyes. A question lingered there.

  “Yes,” she breathed, “yes. Same page.”

  His grin was pure depravity. Powerful thighs spread hers wider than she thought possible. The rug scratched her bare backside, heightening her sensitivity, as did the wanton knowledge that she was stretched open, in a completely public room, in a house filled with people. Hooded eyes, blue-black and fathomless, held her spellbound. In one swift thrust, Devon plowed into her, his grunt so primal she almost came again.

  He braced himself on his forearms, unmoving until her muscles relaxed around him. “Christ, I remember this,” he muttered, nuzzling her ear. “You’re so fucking tight.”

  He shifted and rocked her knees up near her shoulders, propping her socked feet next to his neck. Sweat ran down his temple as he eased out. He pushed in with excruciating slowness this time, and she accepted him with an ecstatic groan. Her eyes drifted shut.

  “No,” he said gruffly, freezing his thrust. Her eyes flew open. “I want you watching. Don’t you ever forget this.”

  She nodded, breathless. Granite biceps strained on either side of her and she ran her fingers over the bulges. Her gaze traveled to the intensity on his handsome face, down the solid lines of his chest, and brick-stacked abs, until it reached the apex where they were joined. He rewarded her with a sliding tempo, and when she made eye contact again, he was gazing at her with that all-encompassing absorption. He leisurely increased his rhythm, opting for powerful strokes over rapid friction. She twisted, as much as she could in her curled position, to meet his solid thrusts. Over and over he plunged—deeper, more forcefully—and she welcomed it, squeezing her muscles to hinder his retreat, opening herself wide to receive all of him. A droplet of his sweat fell on her neck.