She writhed with desire, more alive than she’d been in a year. No, much longer. Her breasts ached until Griff put his hands on them, gently cupping and squeezing, the contact points drawing in his heat and pure sensation. It flared as it sank into her body, flowing through to her core, where a mirroring ache suddenly pierced. She shifted so his leg slid between her thighs, and he knew just what she needed, pressing upward so she rode him. But the ache only intensified, deepened.
She needed his hand. His fingers. She needed him, inside her.
But if she took him now it would be over in seconds. If this were about comfort and escape, that was all she’d want, but deny it as she would—it was far more. “Over in seconds” would kill her. She needed enough to sustain her through—
No. Don’t think.
She ripped his jeans open and shoved them and his briefs down to his ankles, then bent like she was going to help him remove them. Instead, she covered him with her mouth, making him convulse, groan, and bury his hands in her hair. More hot and salty, all Griffin, throbbing and hardening even more in her hands and mouth. For a moment her mindless desire receded, and all she wanted was to pleasure him.
“Christ, Reese.” He thrust his hips forward, almost involuntarily, his legs quivering with his effort at control. She took more of him, drawing her tongue hard over the crease at the front, circling, then sucking as she slid down as far as she could. He pulsed, hot and ready under her hand. She repeated the movements, over and over, until her jaw and mouth ached, resisting his weak attempt to stop her.
He finally managed to pull away and coax her to her feet. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, gathering her to him and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“I need you, Griff,” she whispered, a real tear finally leaking past her lashes. “I can’t—” She choked on the words, uncertain what she was even going to say. “Please.”
“Okay. But it’s my turn.” He kept her close to him as he undressed her down to her cheap department store bra and underwear and laid her gently on the bed. He kissed her breastbone where the butterfly necklace lay, then gently stroked his hands over her body until she relaxed, muscles settling onto the bed, wiggling a little until she lay under him and could reach his body with her own hands.
Then he bit. The side of her neck, the inner curve of her breast, her distended nipple through her bra. Everything changed again. Desire flared, aches growing, need driving her to gasp and cry out, over and over. She arched, and his hand covered the other breast while he tugged aside the lace with his teeth and pulled her nipple into his mouth. He pinched and she cried out, a rush of moisture readying her for his next move. She lifted her hips, wanting him inside her, reaching for the fullness of him against her inner thigh. But he pulled back and she felt cold and alone.
Hating the sudden, negative reversal of need, she kept her eyes closed and waited. She heard a rustle and a rip and realized what he was doing. Another tear leaked out, this time at his caring. After a moment he touched her again, his fingers tender as they pulled off her underwear, then lightly stroked up her leg. Her skin tingled in their wake and she ached for him to touch her again.
He did. First he licked his fingers and slid them over her, up and down and in circles. Pleasure tightened in the bud he stroked, but he seemed to know exactly when to stop. One finger thrust inside her, then two, and he pressed upward, sending waves of sweet sensation through her entire body. But it still wasn’t enough. This wasn’t about simple pleasure, and it wasn’t about her needs alone.
“Griff.”
“Not yet. If this is all…” He didn’t continue, but as he shifted down the bed, her mind supplied the words. If this is all we’re going to have, it will be—
At his contact, she shrieked and twisted to bury her face against a pillow. His tongue stroked her again, flat, then hard, so smooth and slick and Oh, my God, she couldn’t stand the pleasure that spun her, or spun the room around her, she couldn’t tell which. His fingers drove into her, his tongue flicked over her clit, and everything tightened, tightened, pulled her higher and higher as every muscle tensed, waiting, and then she burst into flames.
But it wasn’t enough. Something was missing. “Griff! Now!” She both begged and ordered, and he obeyed. Fast, still knowing exactly what to do, what to give her and how, he slid up over her and drove into her body before the crest of her orgasm had crashed down. She squeezed him rhythmically as he thrust and withdrew, and his groan somehow intensified everything. Instead of throbbing down to contentment, she climbed again, this time slow, intense, beats of ecstasy that had her crying his name. She was almost there again when he slowed.
She sobbed against his shoulder as he lowered his body to cover her, stretched his legs between hers, pushed his arms under her back to pull her up against him. Now he rocked into her, slow pulses that pressed his hardness high against her clit. Each time she almost came, but not quite, and she got lost in the rhythm. She saw nothing but bursts of lights behind her eyelids. Heard no sound but his grunts and gasps, his murmurs of pleasure. Smelled only his skin and their passion. Felt only his body, his arms, his mouth, not even the bed supporting them, only him, deep inside her, in so many ways.
She endured a few more strokes like that, then cried out in both frustration and fear. This was too much, she was too lost. If she fell any further she’d never come back, never be whole again. She sank her teeth into his shoulder and her nails into the muscles of his back, wrapped her legs around his hips, and shoved him into her with her feet, squeezing him as she did.
He held back, his entire body taut as he gently fought her. Then she cried his name again, and some other sound she couldn’t identify, something real and raw that sent him exploding into action, thrusting deep into her, groaning her name as he buried his face in her throat. The power of making him lose control swept her up and into an orgasm so powerful she sizzled as she shattered, golden light fracturing her vision. His arms tightened around her body as he plunged into her a few more times and they shuddered in unison, ecstasy waving through her from center to fingertips, toes, head. She’d never felt anything like it before.
They lay entangled until their breathing slowed and heartbeats calmed. Slowly, she came back to herself. But as long as he lay upon her, the outside world was held at bay. She wouldn’t mourn her husband, or think about murder, or even about Griff. She could just lie here and…be Reese Templeton.
Griff lifted up on his elbows, then dipped his head and kissed her. He tasted wonderful, like happiness and love, and suddenly “outside” was in here. He touched her cheek and kissed her mouth again, the tenderness in both gestures telling her she’d made a huge mistake. She should never have opened the door.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently. “Did it hurt?”
It didn’t sound like the typical après-sex question. She frowned, and he tilted his head toward the wall. She turned and saw scorch marks around the wall outlet next to the bed. She smelled burning rubber and realized it came from the lamp. The porcelain where the wire entered had black marks. The clock radio was dead. She tilted her head back, and saw the light fixture on the wall above them had blackened bulbs—they’d burned out.
Oops.
“I guess I need more training,” she said without thinking, then bit her tongue. There was no room here for flirtatiousness or fun. She was going to make him hate her, and soon.
Hell, might as well start now.
“Well, that helped.” She rolled out of his arms and off the bed, wishing she had a robe. She settled for a towel from the bathroom.
“Helped what?” Griff’s voice was wary, and when she came out of the ugly bathroom, insufficiently covered, she found him sitting on the side of the bed, having made no move to put any clothes on.
“Escape, of course.” She leaned toward him and offered a quick, hard peck on the cheek. Totally insulting, and totally inviting with his soft, delicious mouth so close. She straightened away from him quickly and began picking up her clothes.
“I needed the distraction.”
He was silent for a minute. She heaped her clothes on the desk and tossed him his jeans.
“Distraction.”
“Yes. Thank you. If I’d sat here thinking about Brian all night, I’d have—” She shook her head, leaving it unsaid. But Griff still watched her with narrowed eyes, disbelieving, so she delivered the killing blow. She hoped. “How much do I owe you?”
That was it. His mouth dropped. “What?”
“I don’t think I’ll need your PI services anymore. With Brian dead and the authorities finally directing the investigation the right way, I think this is all over. And I should pay you what I owe you.”
It almost killed her to say it. She stood in her stupid towel, determinedly keeping her face cold and expressionless.
And finally, it sank in. He stood and thrust his legs into his jeans, yanked on his T-shirt, stomped into his shoes.
“I can’t believe I waited all this time,” he ground out. “Stood by you through everything, helped you on this vengeance quest, and played the good friend. Biding my time. Waiting for you to be free. And this is what I get. How much do you fucking owe me?” Then he went from looking murderous to completely defeated. “Just tell me one thing, Reese. One thing before I walk out of your life.”
She swallowed a cry of protest. This was what she wanted. No, not what she wanted, but what had to happen. She had to do what needed to be done alone. It was the only way to protect Griff. And after that, she still had to be alone. He didn’t deserve what she was going to become, even if he tried to understand, tried not to hate her for it. She couldn’t live with the possibility that he might compromise his principles for her, make exceptions that he refused to make for his fiancée all those years ago. Eventually, it would poison them. Loving him, trying to build a future with him, only to have it end in a contemptuous good-bye would kill her as surely as Big K intended to.
But she owed him one answer. “What’s that?”
“I’ve always wondered why you stuck by him so loyally when he betrayed you. When he nearly killed you.”
The answer came without struggle. “I don’t do the leaving. Everyone in my life has always left me, whether they meant to or not, from my father right on down.” She swallowed, the words suddenly ringing false in the face of what she was doing to Griff. But she finished answering anyway. “I wasn’t going to abandon Brian, no matter what he’d done.”
Griff nodded. “That right there? That’s the whole reason I waited. Why you were worth waiting for.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Obviously, it didn’t work out that way. Not meant to be, I guess.”
“I’m sorry, Griff.” The words were heartfelt and true, but he shook his head.
“Not sorry enough.” He shrugged on his shirt, checked his pockets, and retrieved a pancake holster from under the pillow on the bed. She would have gaped—she had never noticed the weapon, never mind him sliding it under there—but the gesture underscored why she needed to push him away, get rid of him now.
Griff was a good, moral, ethical man. A good investigator. An asset to many people, tasked with making the world safe. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—corrupt that, and letting him help with what she had planned would corrupt him.
“Okay. Send me a bill, then,” she said, hiding the agony of her shattering heart.
And with one final, ugly look, he was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
Within two days of arriving at the tiny airport servicing the island, Reese had the schedule and routine figured out. One plane took off in the morning, usually loaded with tourists. It came back from the island at one o’clock, let off its passengers, and took another load out. The final trip in landed at four. She bought a ticket, an open one that she could use any time as long as the plane wasn’t full. On her first attempt, she got as far as the gate, and that was it. The sweat, the squeezing of her lungs, and the frantic pounding of her heart that she was certain was a heart attack. She turned around and walked away.
She couldn’t get on the fucking plane.
Stupid freaking irony.
Maybe she could have forced herself onboard, especially if she could get her hands on Valium or something to calm her. But it wasn’t just sweat and suffocation and a heart about to burst. As those symptoms escalated, so did the electric aura around her. She’d fried a beverage cooler the first time, electricity pouring into her, then arcing to the machine. The second time she’d totally failed to contain it, despite using all the tricks she’d learned. The panic just overwhelmed her, and this time a fire alarm sizzled. She wasn’t sure she stopped before it shorted completely, so she’d left an anonymous note to the manager to have it checked. But clearly, she couldn’t force herself past the panic and take the flight—she’d bring down the plane.
The failure weighed heavily on her. Sure, she’d once considered letting go of her quest, but having it taken away brought no relief. It was too abrupt, too incomplete. And too unsatisfactory an outcome.
She could not let him get away with everything he’d done. Couldn’t let it end this way.
There must be another way onto the island. They had to be able to get building materials and vehicles and other large items out there.
But no. There was a large freight flight once a quarter, which of course had just gone out last week. The postal service contracted to a charter company for any shipped item too large for the passenger flight. No boats of any size were allowed near the island, because of the danger.
So that was it. Big K had won, just like he’d won last year when Brian tried to end their partnership. And again two days ago when he had Brian killed before he could recover enough to name and finger Big K.
Unless Missirian showed up with his boss next to him, holding a big sign with his name on it, Reese was at a dead end.
But she refused to give in.
She hung around the waiting area, pretending to herself that she would get on the next plane. That she would conquer her panic and the accompanying electric chaos. But even the thought made the lights flicker.
So she tried to distract herself, thinking, inevitably, about Griff. Where he was, what he was doing. If he thought about her. Hated her. Or if he’d dismissed her easily, belying what they’d become to each other. When the wondering became unbearable, she used her prepaid cell phone to check the messages at her home number. The insurance company had called four times about the fires. She couldn’t dredge up enough energy to care, but the stalling helped her fool herself that the next plane, she could get on. She just had to work up to it.
Sure. That was all.
A buzzing over the water grew steadily louder. She stood and moved to the tiny terminal’s window. Her palms went clammy and she wiped them on her jeans, her eyes fixed on the point in the sky where the plane would become visible. Although she managed to control her breathing, her heartbeat accelerated, pounding so hard she could feel the pulse in her neck without touching it.
Her spine seemed to vibrate with the buzzing of the plane engines, and she shuddered against the sensation. The cell phone in her hand, which she’d forgotten to turn off, beeped and flashed, then popped with a tiny wisp of smoke.
Wonderful.
The weight of her failure pinned her to the floor. She couldn’t do it. She had desperately willed herself to get on the plane, but her feet would not obey. No matter what she told herself, no matter how strong her despair at not reaching the end of her mission, she could not go through those doors.
The parking lot door opened and a breeze kissed the back of her neck. The compulsion to run rose from deep inside, speeding her heart even more, making her pant. She turned on one foot and took a step toward release.
Two people had entered the terminal and, averting her face, she moved to the side to go around them. They were hurrying through the building to get to the plane. Something nudged her brain—a scent? A voice? She wasn’t sure—and she glanced up as the couple passed. She swallowed a gasp, re
cognizing the one closest to her.
One of the geeks who had broken into her house—Idiot Number Two.
Excitement rose, banishing the despair and the panic. She watched as he walked across the wooden terminal floor. He had his hand wrapped around the elbow of the woman next to him. It appeared solicitous unless you looked closely. His fingers dug into the woman’s flesh.
Who was she? Reese moved closer, trying to see better, but they went out the tarmac door before she could get a look at her. Reese moved back to the window, but all that was visible was the woman’s long blond hair. Something still struck her as familiar. “Turn around,” she murmured. “Drop something. Let me see you.” But all the disembarked passengers swarmed around them, and she lost sight of the couple. A minute later, they were climbing the steps to the plane. Idiot Number Two paused to hand their tickets to the attendant at the top, and the woman twisted, scanning the tarmac almost frantically.
Reese gasped . She knew that face.
It was Kimmie. The sweet, naïve nanny she and Griff had prevented from getting caught up in that awful movie/prostitution mess. This time, the panic Reese felt had nothing to do with flying. What the hell were they doing with her? Reese was certain Kimmie had learned her lesson when they told her what was really going on. Had Big K sent his goons to get her because of Reese? To teach them both a lesson?
Guilt was bitter in the back of her throat as dread clawed at the front.
This was her fault. There was no way she could watch Kimmie get on that plane and do nothing.
The tarmac was clearing, and the doorway to the terminal streamed with people coming inside. Driven to follow Kimmie, forgetting everything else, Reese pushed against them, trying to get out, and finally squeezed through. She ran across the tarmac, shouting at the attendant retreating into the plane.
Her ticket, she needed her ticket. The attendant smiled as she dashed up the steps, the metal ringing and shaking with her movements. Her right hand scrabbled in her rear pocket for her ticket, pulling out the crumpled papers as she reached the top.
A Kiss of Revenge (Entangled Ignite) Page 21
