by Lea Griffith
“Oui?”
“You know you only speak French when you’re either angry or nervous,” he said at her back.
“Yes?” She bit out.
“Yeah.”
Her nipples pebbled automatically as her body softened, instinctive reactions to the man who played her body effortlessly. Frustration whisked through her. “Maybe instead of deliberately misunderstanding me, you could tell me what you want?”
“We’re leaving tomorrow. Have you contacted your man in Arequipa?” he asked silkily, not moving away, no indeed, moving closer.
Her brain screamed at her to leave. Her body demanded she not move a muscle. “I have.” It was a tiny lie, but amidst so many, it was a minor infraction.
“Then we’ll head out tomorrow morning at nine.” His voice stroked her. Gravelly and deep, it begged her to turn around and sink into him.
She nodded sharply even as she dug her nails into her palms. Any little hurt to sting away the burgeoning and ever-present arousal. Damn him. “I’ll be ready,” rushed from her lips, and she took a step forward.
“Okay.”
He knew, damn him. He knew what he did to her. It was there in his tone, sardonic and slightly mocking. It had her turning before she took another step.
“You can stop,” she growled.
He shook his head, one corner of his delicious mouth lifting up. Yep . . . mocking her.
“Seriously, you’ve gotten what you wanted from me. I spilled the beans, as it were—isn’t that an American saying? So now there’s no reason to do—” She waved her hands between them. “—this.”
He moved a step closer to her, his heat wrapping around her tightly, making her stomach quiver. “What is this, Gretchen?”
Her name on his lips, in that deep, seductive tone he had, jerked at her soul. Her breathing slowed and her body weakened. “Stop.”
“No.” Closer. His dark gaze searched hers, and she wondered what he thought he may find within her. “You make me want.” The words were harsh in the silence of the foyer.
“It is only fair, non, since you do the same to me,” she whispered. Panic speared her midsection. She always gave him too much in these exchanges.
He leaned toward her, head descending, but as she licked her lips, he bypassed them, breath blowing against her ear. She shivered.
“Your toes are curling.”
His deep voice bounced around inside her head and shot heat straight to her gut. She stayed silent.
He breathed out roughly. “Tell me why this happens so quickly. Tell me why I want you.”
She shook her head and moved a step back. “I have no experience with these emotions. I am more dead than alive, Mr. Beckett. You make my body need things, but not having those things will not kill me.”
He remained where he was and cocked his head, eyes glittering dangerously. “You are correct. It will not kill either of us. Mind over body, yeah?”
Her smile caught her by surprise. Humor? “Oui.”
He stared at her. Hard. She found herself in the singularly odd position of wanting to squirm. Her hands twisted together, and she shifted from one foot to the other before she checked her movements.
“You’re uncomfortable. Not what I wanted. I believe you were headed upstairs. I’ll let you go and check in with you later.”
“Please don’t.” He was too much of a temptation. Even now his body called to hers.
His gaze went hot and he nearly reached for her. She wanted him to. She moved farther away. There was so much she didn’t know how to control between them. It was destructive.
Remi turned away, heard him call her name, and continued up the stairs and into her room. She stripped out of her clothes and settled under the warm spray of the shower. She stood there until the water went cold, and still her body ached. Needy and desperate, she finally got out.
She wrapped her hair in a towel, dried off, and lay on the bed. Just a few minutes of rest were all she really needed. Maybe she could purge the desire through sleep.
It was a long time before she saw darkness behind her closed lids.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rand watched her for a long time before his presence keyed her subconscious. He noticed the subtle tightening of the muscles of her abdomen, and then her fists clenched and her eyelids flickered. All of those signs were faint, but he’d come to recognize that she was diligent, even in sleep.
His mind had struggled with sleep, and it hadn’t been until he’d entered her room and calmed that he’d understood something he’d never thought would be possible. This woman, with her killer instincts and blood on her hands, had wrapped her bruised heart around his, and now they were entwined.
His body reacted to her nearness with a desperation he’d never known. When he couldn’t see her, he wondered where she was. Was she safe? Had she left? He’d chased her the other night, and they’d watched as someone killed the Director of the CIA. Then Rand had killed to prevent Gretchen from being harmed.
He had killed for her. Would do so again, if needed. Yeah, she was deep inside him now, and he had no idea how the fuck it had happened. He shied from it even as he gravitated toward it.
She was a broken person. Strong on the outside, but a million pieces inside. Stubborn did not adequately describe her personality. She didn’t need a goddamn thing from him, and that, more than anything, bothered him. Her goal was the same as Rand’s but different. Rand wanted to survive.
Bullet did not. He wondered where Gretchen fit into the equation. His heart skipped a beat as he realized Gretchen was a non-entity to Bullet. She would die denying that the woman he knew even existed in Bullet’s soul.
Her legs whispered against the coverlet, and his body hardened in a rush. He sat back in the chair, shadowed. She knew he was there. Fascinated, he watched gooseflesh rise and ripple across her arms, pebbling her nipples, and rushing over her abdomen. Rand took a deep breath.
They would leave in only hours, and all he wanted at this moment was to lose himself in her. The towel on her head came off and her red tresses made a vibrant splash against the blue covers. The light from the bathroom washed over her pale flesh, illuminating and shadowing at the same time.
“Why are you here?” Her voice was soft as it brushed over him.
“I can’t stay away from you.”
“I remember you in my sleep.” The admission seemed torn from her.
He chuckled ruefully. “That’s right, because you don’t dream.”
Softness gone, her retort was biting. “This thing you have with mocking angers me. If you came here to do—if you came here for me, perhaps pissing me off isn’t the best way to get in my pants.”
He got up and walked to the bed, stared down at her, and the desire pulsed through him. It was heady, this need he had for her. Bigger and more potent than anything he’d ever experienced.
“Then it’s a good thing you’re naked, huh?” He reached for her hand and found her reaching for his. “Sit up.”
Her eyes flared, and then she veiled them. Control was a precious thing to her, but it was for Rand, as well. And he would have this of her tonight, her submission to him on a level she’d never given anyone. He would show her everything he felt with his body. Because Bullet would never allow Gretchen to have the words he could feel trying to creep up his throat.
She did as he asked, and he thanked God. He didn’t want a physical fight with her. This was lo—lust, not war. Not yet.
He wrapped his hands through her hair and urged her up. As soon as her body made contact with his, Rand’s breath hissed in, and he groaned. He was bare-chested, and his pajama pants did nothing to hide his erection. She rubbed her stomach over him intentionally, and his hands clenched so hard, he knew he was pulling her hair.
She raised her face to his and licked her lips. Luscious lips, full lower and upper now wet from her tongue.
“I told you earlier that you make me want. But tell me Gretchen, what do you want?”
She searched his face as if it held the answers to the creation of the universe. Then she smiled and his hips flexed of their own accord. His dick pressed against her stomach, a torture, but not for much longer.
“I want things that are impossible. To be honest, Mr. Beckett, I cannot voice what I want when you touch me.”
“You refuse to use my name. Why?” He whispered his question over her eyelids. Her skin was so damned soft. He followed the line of her cheeks, kissed her temple, and proceeded lower to the edge of her lips. He wanted to feel her lips move as she answered. “Tell me the truth. Do not lie to me here, tonight.”
She took a deep breath, and it moved over his neck. Even her breath was sexy.
“In my mind, you are Rand. But the reality is that you can never be more than Mr. Beckett to me. If I allow you to be more than that, you will own a piece of me I cannot give you.”
His heart ached, her words verifying what he’d known all along. “If I am Rand in your mind, then that piece already belongs to me, does it not?”
She smiled and he was lucky enough to be there to taste it. The flavor was sweetness and remorse. Bittersweet. He swiped his tongue over her lips in reward for her honesty.
“Not yet, Mr. Beckett. Though you wage a hard campaign—” She rubbed her stomach over his hard flesh again, and he groaned, unable to hold it in. “—I cannot give you what isn’t mine.”
“You’ve already given it to me. When I’m deep inside your body, everything you are is mine. Believe it or not, Bullet, the woman inside of you wants the man inside of me. Look at me,” he demanded in a voice rough with desire.
She complied, and her gaze struck a match in his chest. Fire raced down his spine, tightened in his groin, and spread through the rest of his body. He would take a long time with her tonight, imprint himself on her body, in her soul. Everything inside him clamored for it. For her.
“If you would make this a war between us, I think you should know that when the smoke clears, I will be left standing, and that piece that you say isn’t yours to give will be in my hands.” He licked along her jaw, and then returned to her mouth.
Her gaze was defiant, and the cock that was already harder than a brickbat for her hardened even more, begged for the depths of her body to ease the sting of the lust inside him.
“It hurts,” she bit out as she raised a fist to her chest. “I cannot fight two wars. One with you and one with Joseph. But neither will I wave a white flag on either front. And I don’t want war, Mr. Beckett. Not with you.”
He brushed his lips over hers again, and she moved to catch his as he retreated.
“Then let’s not have war tonight. Give me Gretchen. Tomorrow, you can be Bullet. Tonight, give me that piece of you I crave, and I’ll give it back to you when the sun rises.”
She lowered her head, but not before her pain clubbed him in the gut. Then she raised her head and stood proudly before him, and he knew then that he’d have Gretchen for tonight. His heart swelled, and he pushed aside everything else. Ken’s distrust and anger, his own feelings of betrayal, and his insecurities.
Tomorrow, they’d resume the fighting. Tonight was all about Rand and Gretchen.
He persisted in thinking there was a part of her still Gretchen. That person had never had time to form. She’d been Bullet for too long. Remi for a shorter time, but even she had realized there were different people who lived inside her. Remi had risen from Gretchen’s ashes. Bullet had always been.
But this man who made her heart beat called to her. All of her. Gretchen was gone, but here stood the woman who was both Remi and Bullet. And she wanted him. All of him.
His gaze burned her. It was a war between them. He desired something she couldn’t give because it simply didn’t exist. But she’d give him what she could.
“Tonight, I’ll give you all of me. But you want Gretchen and you must realize that Gretchen is gone as if she never was. It is the name of a memory. I am Bullet. I am Remi.” She lifted his hand and placed it over her heart. “Gretchen isn’t here, but you can have what is left tonight. And tomorrow we’ll go back to what we were meant to be.”
It would have to be enough. Her body sang with need, and his hand answered its call. His hand flattened and stroked over her breast, ghosting over her nipple, tugging for a brief second, and then wrapping around her ribs and pulling her flush against him.
“It will have to be enough,” he said, echoing her thoughts. “Lay down on the bed, face down.”
Shock flowed through her at his words. No way could she give up her back to him.
Could she?
“You hesitate, but I can see in your eyes that the need is there. Lay down,” he said, and hard demand resounded in the silent room.
She was liquid heat, and even though she rebelled at his dominant tone, her body obeyed him, and she settled herself on the bed. The rasp of fabric against her nipples sent electricity through her, centering in her clit, and spreading to her limbs. She moved her hips, desperate for contact.
“No. You don’t move until I tell you to move,” he said as the bed dipped, and he joined her.
Her hands fisted in the sheets, and she had the fleeting thought that maybe she couldn’t do this. He must have sensed her reticence. He kissed the base of her spine, and then splayed his big hands over her buttocks and kneaded.
“Your skin is so soft. But I never smell lotion. All I ever smell is plumeria. Lie still,” he admonished.
His voice and the demand in it made her grind her teeth. She closed her eyes as desire curled through her, wrapping around her heart, demanding things she couldn’t give. No, he can’t have—Couldn’t have what, exactly?
He licked along her spine, his body coming over hers, his skin hot against hers. She reveled in it, needed it. He’d stripped, so his cock settled at the crease of her butt and her hips lifted.
“Don’t do that.” Oh, he was affected. His voiced trembled even as he commanded.
She lowered her hips, desire quickly edging to desperation. He was so close to where she needed him to be.
“Please,” she whispered before she could censor.
“I like how you beg, Gretchen. But I think I need more. I can still feel the tension in your body. You shiver, but is it from need, or do you fight me still?” He pushed her heavy hair out of the way and licked her nape. “You must want as much as I do. In order for that to happen, you have to let go of everything but me.”
She could smell him wrapped around her. Male and something indefinable. Mine, her heart whispered. An insidious thought, it wormed deep in to her brain and writhed there, alive with all manner of possibilities.
“Stop thinking,” he said at her ear as he flexed his hips. “Feel me, Gretchen. Feel what you do to me.”
His lips moved over her shoulder, rained fire down her side, pausing at the edge of her breast and licking. He chuckled when she breathed in harshly and then moved to her hip. Oh, he was evil, teeth biting, lips easing the sting, and then circling back over and over. She was a mess of roiling heat and desire, and still he refused to let her move.
“Lift your hips,” he commanded, and she complied, wondering where the complacency came from.
Her muscles tightened in protest of his words. She had to mentally unclench them. It took long minutes, and he was patient with her. It caused a hole to open in her chest.
He pushed a pillow under her hips, and once again her body sought ease from the contact with something, anything. He growled, and she went dead still.
“Nicely done,” he praised her. “Spread your legs.”
This opened her to his gaze while at the same time allowing her clit contact with the soft pillow beneath her. She moaned. He groaned.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and there was a hint of reverence in his voice. She squeezed her eyes tight.
“I’m going to touch you. I’m going to kiss you, and then, Gretchen, I’m going to slide my cock so deep inside you there is nothing else but me. Nothing but me inside
you, around you, on you. Do you understand?”
She couldn’t form words. His touch had long ago stolen her voice. She wanted to rage, but more than that, she wanted him to do what he was promising.
He ran a finger along her cleft, a teasing touch full of promise. “Do you understand me, Gretchen?”
She nodded. Please, please, please, she chanted in her mind.
He toyed with the inside of her thighs for what seemed an eternity, lightly scratching up the quivering flesh, taunting the lips of her woman’s flesh, stroking over her clit to move away and start all over again.
If her hips moved, his touch stopped. She wanted to scream in frustration, but just as she would draw breath, he would slide a finger tortuously close to her opening, and it would steal that breath.
“You undo me,” he murmured seconds before he placed his mouth on her and suckled.
Her hips slammed back and he stopped. “Please,” she whispered aloud. It came out more grunt than anything.
“What do you want?”
She buried her face in the bed. “S’il te plaît,” she whimpered.
“Your body is flushed. Your pussy is soaked and swollen. Tell me, Gretchen, what do you want?”
She shook her head side to side and refused to answer him. He would take everything. Gretchen wasn’t there, and he didn’t want Remi or Bullet. There was nothing left.
“Answer me,” he ground out even as he swiped his tongue up her cleft. “What do you want?”
She gave up. Painful desire beat at her. She needed. “Toi. I want you. Inside, around, and on . . . me. Please!”
He entered her with one thrust, seating himself firmly inside her from behind. It was glorious, the feel of him within her body. He rocked against her, spread her cheeks, and canted her hips at a different angle, then withdrew and slid back home gently.
“You wrap around my cock so perfectly. One day, Gretchen, you’ll have to see this. We fit together so sweetly. Your body kisses mine beautifully.” His voice was guttural.
Her hips moved back as his moved forward, and within moments, she felt on the cusp of that brilliant shining thing she knew was orgasm. Something she would only ever share with him.
