by Lea Griffith
“What do I call you?” he asked, and amusement peppered his tone.
His smell was all man, and it pulled at her, teased her until she forced herself to breathe through her mouth. “How about you call me nothing?”
“Your name is Gretchen.” Hard assurance rang in his voice now, dangerous to her control.
She nicked him then, sliced just deep enough for him to know this was anything but a game. His pupils widened, but other than that there was no physical reaction. His hands remained on his lap, loose. His shoulders were easy, not bunched. She wondered how many times he’d had his neck under a knife to become so comfortable with it.
“You cut me.”
“I’ll gut you right here, Mr. Bennett. I think somewhere along the line you’ve become comfortable with having a killer under your roof. Consider it a reminder that I’m not a game to be played or a puzzle to solve.” She moved her lips to his ear. “You are nothing to me—a means to an end at best, an inconvenience at worst.”
He moved then, coming out of the chair fast and furious, right hand striking at her face even as his left hand lifted up to push her hand away from his throat. She easily avoided the strike and stepped back, arms loose, adrenaline arcing through her blood like whiskey.
The look on his face would’ve frozen ice, but she’d been here before. He wore a different face than her past opponents, and none of them had ever made her body soften in need, but for that moment he was the same as any other enemy.
Rand took a step forward and she shifted her weight, moved to his right, and started to hop over the bed. Her forward progress stopped by his hand wrapping in her hair, he pulled hard and she fell backward, twisting at the last second. She let her momentum carry her around and clipped him in the knee with her left arm. He grunted and dropped to the other one, but never let go of her hair.
She met the floor, and within seconds, he had his knee on her head, pressing her into the carpet. He shifted immediately and grabbed both of her hands with one of his, never letting go of her hair. He sat on her back, hugged her sides with his knees, and squeezed so hard she coughed to draw air.
She relaxed, went limp, and allowed him a momentary feeling of accomplishment.
He leaned down, never relinquishing hold of her hands as he pulled back on her hair. This lifted her torso off the floor and bent her backwards. The pain of her hair being pulled was eclipsed as his breath tickled her neck, the warmth sliding down her skin and pebbling her nipples.
“I haven’t become comfortable with having you under my roof,” he said in a gravelly voice. She shivered. “But having you under me, well now, that’s something I’ve been weighing in my mind for a quick minute.”
The air locked in her lungs. Fire razed her belly, intense and determined, unrepentant. It scorched her, forced her muscles to jump under her skin. It was uncontrollable. She wiggled her hips, desperation edging her to action. Remi gathered herself, tensing, and then she wrenched her hands free and turned over. He immediately placed his knees on her upper arms, effectively pinning her to the floor. His hands settled on the floor at each side of her head.
It galled her. As he lowered his face to hers, his chest meshing with hers, she had to acknowledge he’d allowed her to turn. And the move benefited his aim.
The look on his face took her breath. If the air had locked in her lungs a minute ago, now it came out in a rush, and she gasped for more. Her chest rose and fell, each inhalation pressing her breasts to the solid muscle of his.
“Tell me, what do I call you?”
The sun was falling and chose that moment to spear the window, throwing its yellow rays over his face, illuminating his eyes. She shuddered. The light framed his face, made his beauty angelic as desire cut her deep.
His gaze tracked over her face and she felt it as a tactile sensation. Her body went boneless beneath his, the hands she’d freed before she turned grabbing the hard thighs that prevented her from reaching for him.
“Say it,” she whispered, wanting to call the words back, regretting them, but at the same time needing . . . more.
He rubbed his whisker-roughed cheek over hers, the sensation so intensely sexual she moaned. She’d never experienced this—sliding of flesh against hers, warm breath washing over her skin, heat burning so hot she was sweating inside.
“Say what?” he asked against her neck. His lips were right there, and she closed her eyes on a wish.
The ridge of his cock rubbed against her stomach, and her abdomen clenched. His hands tangled in her hair, and her nails, shorn from her time digging in the dirt earlier, dug desperately into his jeans-covered thighs.
He hissed in a breath and settled deeper into her. He was heavy but not oppressing, and she soaked up his weight and warmth.
“Dis-le,” she whispered even as she arched her back, pushing her breasts against his chest and giving him greater access to her neck.
Thoughts came and went, and warnings dinged in the back of her mind, but it was all at a distance. If she had nothing else in her life just for Remi, she wanted this . . . right now.
He licked her then, along the tendon that ran down her neck. “Please,” she said on a groan.
Rand pulled away just a few inches, enough for her to see his lust-stained cheeks and beautifully sculpted lips. God, he was gorgeous, black hair mussed, a lock on his forehead that she wanted to brush away. His eyes were bright with what lay between them.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said and then lowered his head.
She took a breath, taking him in deep, tasting him as her body clamored for his lips on hers. She shook her head. This was insane, but even as the thought came, she pushed it away.
“Mon nom ... dis-le.” Say my name. Plea. Prayer. It was those things and more. Just once more she needed it from his lips.
“I want to, but I don’t think it’s quite the right time yet,” he said a second before he took her lips in a blistering kiss.
His tongue was hot silk in her mouth, pushing and withdrawing, begging hers to dance in a duel of want. His lips slid over hers, teeth tugging even as she lifted her head for deeper contact. And just when she felt herself take the plunge into that irresistible thing called desire, he pulled away.
Chapter Sixteen
She approached a kiss like warfare, hot strokes full of deadly intent, and then withdrawal to evaluate the damage to her opponent. Rand was lost in her. Every moan, every sigh, every breath built an anticipation he’d never known. But this shouldn’t be warfare. It should be . . .
He dropped the thought, and unwilling to pick it back up, he moved off her and stood. He didn’t know why he felt a need to wait for this. He simply knew it wasn’t the right time. For some reason, Gretchen Dearborn, aka Bullet, called to the protector in him.
She’d thought to threaten him, and she’d gotten the upper hand on him as it were, until he’d managed to brute force her to the ground. He winced as he walked to the door. She’d punched him in the knee as she’d gone to the ground, and that shit had hurt. Still hurt.
Rand stopped, hand on the knob, and looked back at her, heartbreaking blue eyes alive with fire. She’d gained her feet, chest heaving. Hands clenched into small fists at her side, she cocked her head. It was a challenge, and Rand fucking wanted her so badly.
He adjusted himself behind his jeans and turned.
“I want you.” Put it out there and see how she responded.
Her gaze dropped to his pelvis, and a wry grin touched her full lips.
“Did you hear me?”
“You’re practically yelling,” she returned ruefully.
“Yeah, I never did that until I met you.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“By all means, blame the killer for everything.” Then she did something he would’ve never expected. She laughed.
And it made her even lovelier. His dick went from hard to throbbing. She laughed with everything in her, the sound full-bodied and husky, almost rusty, but sexy for all t
hat. Her laughter then died, and she wiped tears from her face, glanced around sheepishly.
Beautiful.
He moved before he could censure his steps, took her face in his hands, and kissed her again. It went beyond need now, it was imperative that he taste her, feel her inside of him.
She grabbed his shoulders, and he pushed her back, toward the bed. She sat, and he was aware he’d taken her by surprise but refused to allow space between them, coming over her and pressing her into the bed with his body.
Her legs opened, whether instinct or something else, he neither knew nor cared. Rand was only focused on how perfectly his hips settled in the cradle of hers, how sweet her breath in his mouth tasted. He needed inside of her. Somehow, someway this woman eased that part of him that had hungered for so long.
He lifted her shirt and pulled at her bra. It ripped, and she was left with tattered cotton that he swept out of the way. Her skin was creamy velvet, and as he lowered his head to take her in his mouth, he wondered if this was it—if he’d ever be able to pull away from her, her taste, the feel of her under his palms.
Her nipples were tight and sat so prettily atop the mound of her full breasts. He licked one, and her back arched, so he blew on it to reward her. Her hands, still on his shoulders, dug deep in to the muscles there. His hips flexed and he rotated them, feeling her body soften beneath him. He nuzzled her breast, the soft flesh warm and willing, and then he took her into his mouth and suckled.
She almost came off the bed as a shudder rippled through her body. “Yesssss,” she hissed, and her hands tangled in his hair.
He was going to fuck her. Fifty ways from Sunday and again on Monday if they continued down this path. He pulled her deep, flicked the tip with his tongue, and released it with a pop. Then he moved to the other one, but not before he palmed the one he’d left, massaging the fullness and wringing a groan from her chest.
“C'est trop. Nous devons cesser,” she whispered, even as she curled her hips ups to meet the thrust of his.
“Speak English, damn it,” he muttered around her flesh. If she kept talking to him in that sexy-as-hell language, he was going to come before he ever got inside her.
She pulled his hair, forcing his head back. He held onto her nipple delicately, but with his teeth. She inhaled sharply and he smiled, never letting go of the bud. She liked a little pain and the thought had him groaning.
She was uninhibited, and it was so at odds with the warrior in her that it took his breath. Rand stilled. He released her nipple with a small bite, followed by a licking caress. He tangled his hands in her hair and forced her to face him.
Her eyes were slits and her cheeks were rouged.
“Look at me,” he demanded. Her body was his. He recognized it even as he watched her struggle with the truth.
She closed her eyes, leaving dark brown lashes to lie in silken fans on her cheeks.
“Look at me.” It was a request this time.
She did. And he was lost.
Her body was an entity Remi didn’t recognize. Soft and pliant underneath his hard heat, it begged for his touch, the rasp of his beard stubble on her flesh, the feel of his hard cock riding the ridge of her pelvis. Every touch, every stroke brought her closer to a shimmering reality: she was going to lie with this man.
Her heart tugged in her chest, and her soul screamed for surcease from the fires he stoked, but her brain demanded accounting. And it was her brain she cursed as she pushed at his shoulders and watched regret carve into his handsome face.
“This is going to happen,” he said firmly, not budging an inch.
“It cannot happen, Mr. Beckett,” she replied in a waspish tone, feeling his regret echo in her belly.
He pressed forward, and she didn’t even try to stop the moan that slid from her mouth. “Your mouth says no, but your body, Bullet? Your body tells me yes.”
It was the sound of her moniker on his lips that made her decision.
She took a deep breath and centered herself. “Bodies are tools, easily controlled by strong minds,” she bit out.
His eyes narrowed, gaze tracking across her features, hands tightening in her hair. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means I control my body, not the other way around.” She bucked him off and slid out from under him. As earlier, she fully realized she wouldn’t have been able to do so had he not allowed it.
He’d shown he could overpower her with sheer strength. Remi always learned from her mistakes. A tiny voice inside her head mocked her. Yeah, she’d done a great job learning not to push Rand Beckett, hadn’t she?
His hands were clenched, his face hard as he stood there. He flipped every switch she’d never known she had. He was magnificent. Strong, able . . . protector.
She shook her head. “What happened, Mr. Beckett, to your number one priority?”
The tension in the room snapped ice cold. Gooseflesh broke out on her arms, and she barely restrained the urge to rub her hands up and down them. She’d gotten what she wanted, hadn’t she? Ugly emotion twisted his lips, but still she wanted them on hers.
“You think just because I want to fuck you that my priorities have changed?”
His words cut deeply. But it was what she needed to hear. What he needed to feel. If they ever gave in to this insane desire between them, it would be deadly for them both.
He laughed and the sound was low, horrible. “You overestimate your importance.” He walked close to her, stopped but a foot away, and his stare could have cut glass. “I’ve fucked a few women since Lily died. None of them meant anything but release. You were here, available, and your body can’t soften for mine fast enough.” Rand reached up, gently brushing an errant strand of hair from her cheek. His touch at odds with his words, electricity struck where his skin brushed hers. “You are right about one thing. A strong mind can control a weak body. Thank you for the reminder. I am simply a man who was almost ruled by his cock.”
He dropped his hand and walked out, shutting the door softly as he exited.
Remi took a deep breath and rubbed her chest. The pain was intense. But it was as it should be.
She sat back down on the floor and closed her eyes. The words hovered on her lips, but it was the tears that fell. She’d lost too much. Better she never have him. If she lost Rand Beckett, it would be a fatal blow.
Her heart knew it to be true.
Chapter Seventeen
Remi took supper in her room. Dmitry brought it in with a caution to remain there for the night. She didn’t question him. She’d heard movement going on below her for some time since Rand had left. Ken Nodachi’s voice could be heard at a low hum in the rooms beneath her.
He’d brought someone with him, a prisoner he’d called the person, a killer. Remi knew well who he had. And she had zero intention of remaining in this room throughout the night.
What the hell Blade was thinking, she had no idea. To allow herself to be caught? She was supposed to be in Shanghai, protecting her most valuable asset and setting the stage for...
Something sharp stole its way through Remi’s mind. She pushed it aside, refused to acknowledge the one emotion that would weaken her resolve to do this thing she’d set out to do. Blade was here for a reason; better Remi discover what it was and get her out of here.
She ate the meal Dmitry had brought in, careful to consume every bite with care. Her body was so much stronger, thanks to the supplements and food. She was almost where she needed to be. Almost.
Three hours passed as Remi waited for the noise in the house to die. She listened to every creak and groan on the floors, tracked every whisper of sound. They were holding her sister in the same room they’d held Remi at first.
She readied herself. No doubt, Nodachi and Rand were waiting for her move. She strapped her knife to her thigh and placed her Walther at the base of her spine. It felt right there. Her heart clenched.
So sad, that.
She opened the door and walked to the top of the stai
rs. Nothing moved below her and she walked down, careful to make no noise but not staying to the shadows. They were watching. Her only hope for getting Blade out lay in the speed of her attack.
Remi walked to the stairs that led to the basement and pushed the door open. Still no sounds, no telltale prickling at her nape. Worry didn’t factor into her present concerns. There was only a need to separate Blade from these men.
She walked down the steps and entered a corridor that had two doors off to the left. She took the first door, and what she saw took her breath.
Blade was hanging by her wrists from ropes tied to bolts in the ceiling. Her head hung to her chest, and her beautiful blonde hair had been shorn from her scalp. Cuts littered her head, and though her breathing was even, it was shallow. She was still dressed, but her clothes were tattered and ratty in places.
Remi pulled out her gun and swept the entire room with her gaze. Nothing jumped out, and with an efficiency born of training and desperation, she shot out the lens of the cameras in each of the corners. She pulled her knife from its scabbard and stealthily moved toward the other woman. One swipe of her arm and Blade was falling to the ground in a heap.
Remi quickly picked her up and headed to the door, but was brought up short when she saw Ken Nodachi standing there. He smirked, and when Rand walked in behind him, Remi felt the first stirrings of her blackening rage.
Joseph had trained them all to levels of rage. The intent was to operate on instinct. He’d taken Nietzshe’s “God is dead” to a whole new level. Nothing was more important than self-actualization to Joseph. Become what you need when you need it, and you are the best weapon in the world.
The ultimate killer reached what Joseph called “blackening rage” at the point where they were about to take life. Remi was almost there.
It was only the dark indigo of Rand Beckett’s eyes and the look within them that stopped her from dropping both men.
“Move,” she managed to ground out.
