At the mercy of her enemy.
His hand moved again, ruthless, inexorable, his finger pushing inside her, sliding in deep, and there was no resistance, none whatsoever. She was wet for him.
She groaned, unable to help herself, the sound taken from her as he explored her mouth, tasting every part of her. Oh, God, so good. Her body clenching hard around his finger, wanting movement and friction and more, the pressure inside her intensifying. And along with it, the inexplicable panic.
Temple twisted in his arms, a deep animal instinct making her seek escape. But he only tightened his grip, immobilizing her.
Making her take whatever he wanted to give.
His finger moved, sliding in and out of her, a second joining the first, and her hips began to flex against him, following the movement. Her body arched, restless and hot. Desperate.
Then he bit her lower lip, the pain a sharp, bright shock.
He’s going to make you come. He’s going to make you scream. He’s going to make you feel something other than rage. And you know you don’t fucking deserve it.
No. Shit no. She couldn’t let him do that. Couldn’t cede him that much control over her and her feelings. Couldn’t let herself be so fucking helpless. Because she needed that rage. It was her only fuel.
Because it’s better than shame, right?
She twisted again before she could stop herself, bringing her hands up in a hard, jerking movement, breaking his hold on her, sidestepping as she did so and pushing so that he stumbled back against the armchair and nearly fell back into it.
For a moment there was silence, broken only by the sound of their shared, frantic breathing.
Jericho stared at her, his eyes gone almost as gold as her own. They were full of flames, full of heat, the sharp edge of his aristocratic cheekbones stained with red. He was as hungry as she was, that was obvious, and it should have made her feel some kind of triumph at how she’d affected him.
But she didn’t. She was too busy preparing to defend herself against the explosion of anger because there was always an explosion of anger when a man was denied something he wanted.
Yet Jericho made no move toward her and didn’t speak. Instead, he straightened up, his beautiful mouth curving into one of those dangerous, hungry smiles. As if he’d won.
Fuck. Fuck. What had she done?
“I didn’t say stop,” she said shakily, before he could speak.
“Didn’t you?” His voice was hoarse, the velvet frayed and ragged, which somehow only made it even more compelling. “Pushing me away is the same thing.”
“No.” Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She had to fix this somehow because there was no way she was going to lose this. “I have to say the word, that was the deal.”
He remained where he was, his gaze on hers, green and gold like sunlight glittering on the deep ocean. “If you keep betraying yourself like this, kitten, I won’t have to ask you any questions at all.”
The panic hadn’t gone away, somehow migrating to her throat instead, strangling her, and she had to swallow hard to get rid of it. Jesus, he wasn’t wrong. “I didn’t give you anything.”
“Sure you did.” He tilted his head, desire still stamped across his beautiful face, and he made no effort to hide it. “I can see your fear, Temple. I know what you’re afraid of.”
You don’t deserve it, little slut. After all the lives you’ve taken, all the things you’ve done …
She crushed the voice in her head, the one that sounded like her father, because seriously, the past had no place here. She’d exorcised it from her life. Mustering up a smile to match his from somewhere, she raised a brow. “Oh? And what am I afraid of then?” She was pleased at the sarcasm in her voice. “Do tell, since you appear to know.”
“Pleasure.” His frayed velvet voice dragged over her skin like a caress. “You’re afraid of wanting it.”
Her laugh was forced, but it was there. “Afraid of pleasure? Seriously?” Somehow she knew she didn’t sound as convincing as she wanted to. “Why the hell would I be afraid of that?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.” His gaze burned into hers. “But that’s the second time you’ve pulled away tonight.”
Her heartbeat echoed like a drum, the pressure between her thighs insistent.
She’d never thought this man would be different from all the rest. She’d never thought his focus would be her. Because why should it? When every single other man she’d been with had been completely selfish about their own pleasure. They weren’t curious about her, they didn’t care whether she got off or not. They weren’t interested.
But he was.
It had never bothered her before since with all those other men, sex had only been a means to an end. Yet … it bothered her now.
Which left her with only one option. If she wanted to take control of this and still win, she had to turn his focus. Make him selfish. Make him desperate. Make him intent on nothing but his own pleasure. Difficult when she didn’t know much about him. Then again, she’d picked up a few things during the past couple of hours. She had an inkling about what would get him panting for her.
He liked control, but even more than that, she suspected he liked a challenge.
Time to be that challenge.
“I think you like it,” she murmured. “I think you like me pulling away. It gets you hot, makes you want to come after me. In fact, I bet that’s what you’re waiting for now. Why you’re holding back.”
His gaze roved over her. “What makes you think I’m holding back?”
“You’re a man who takes what he wants and you haven’t taken me yet.” She gathered herself, shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet, ready to move, stripper shoes be damned. “Because you’re waiting for me to run.”
And sure enough, something ignited in his expression, a flare of intensity that had her already fast heartbeat accelerating.
“Ah.” The word was soft, quiet. A mere exhalation of breath. “So what are you waiting for then?” There was something savage in his smile now. “Run, kitten. Run.”
* * *
She moved almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Fast. And he reached for her because she wasn’t wrong, that’s exactly what he’d been waiting for. Except he hadn’t known it himself until she’d said it. Until he’d seen the muscles in her slender, supple body tense and felt his own raw, primal response.
He didn’t know how she knew that about him, but she did. And maybe it should have concerned him that she was able to read him so easily. Yet concern was the last thing on his mind.
He wanted her. Holy fuck, he wanted her.
And when his fingers closed on empty air, he wanted her even more.
Christ, she was fast.
She was off to his left, her golden eyes glowing, her beautiful body all flushed and pink. He could still taste her on his tongue, sweet and hot, and his fingers were still wet from where they’d been buried in the liquid heat of her pussy.
Yeah, she wanted him. Despite how she pulled away from him, she wanted him. Her body didn’t lie. Yet something was holding her back.
Well, he’d find out. He’d find out everything.
He made another grab for her, moving fast. And again she dodged out of the way, her body bending and shifting, supple as a stalk of grain bent by the wind.
“You’re slow,” she said, a taunting smile curving her mouth.
Bitch. Time to stop fucking around.
He lunged forward, lightning fast, a move she shouldn’t have managed to escape from and yet somehow, his fingers once more closed on nothing.
She laughed, and he whirled around to find her standing behind him, near his armchair, grinning. “You’ll have to do better than that. I’m not even running yet.”
Excitement twined with desire, a low pulse deep inside him. So, she wasn’t going to make this easy. Good. He’d been hoping she wouldn’t. That she’d be something special, something that would test him.
He drew in a slow, silent breath, loosening his muscles. “You’re not a stripper. You’re not a dancer. What are you, kitten? An agent? CIA?” Because she had to be. She’d broken his hold on her earlier so easily and the way she moved now … Even dancers didn’t move that fast.
“If you want to know that, you’ll have to catch me.” Gold glittered bright in her eyes, her muscles shifting and tensing beneath smooth, pale skin.
Again, there was no fear anywhere in her. Only … excitement. As if she was enjoying this as much as he was.
He smiled and moved, coming at her fast, watching her, trying to predict which way she’d go. She started to move right so he changed direction mid stride, his reflexes honed by long years of practice at the dirty street fighting he’d had to learn in order to claw his way to the top.
Yet, as he swept an arm out to hook around her waist, she dropped to her knees and rolled away, coming to her feet and dodging back quicker than he’d thought possible. Jesus Christ, this woman …
He didn’t pause, coming straight for her, and she laughed again, leaping back and spinning, matching him move for move. It was like trying to catch air or grasp a handful of water. She kept shifting, staying just out of reach, and he had the impression that she was playing with him, as if he was a cat trying to catch the end of a piece of string she kept dangling in front of him.
No wonder she hadn’t been afraid back in the club. No wonder she wore power and confidence like a cloak. If no one could catch her, no one could touch her. No one could hurt her.
Except he didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to make her scream.
He swept a foot out, hoping to trip her, but she only leaped like a dancer, spinning around and putting the coffee table between them. She grinned again, her skin bare and flushed and glowing with a light sheen of sweat. Her nipples were pink and hard, and there were coils of fire-red hair sticking to her shoulders. “Come on, Jericho. Who knew you’d be that slow?”
He was hard now, and it was almost painful. It was starting to make him lose patience.
You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be enjoying this.
The voice was faint in his head, echoes of a past long gone. A past that would choke him in guilt if he thought too much about it. This wasn’t the same though. This was different.
She wanted him. And she liked this just as much as he did.
“Am I slow?” He held her bright gaze. “Maybe I’m just trying to tire you out.”
“Or maybe I’m just too fast for you.” She lifted one hand, raking red curls away from her face. “Maybe you’d better start ordering me to do as you say, because I have to obey, right?”
Well, he could do that. But they both knew that would cede her the victory and there was no fucking way he was going to do that. No, he was going to catch her fair and square.
He gave her no warning, leaping straight over the coffee table toward her, and he saw the flare of surprise in her eyes. But then she was turning, springing toward the sofa, one foot on the cushions, launching herself up and over the back of it like a gymnast.
Stopping would mean giving her time to plan, so he didn’t stop, flinging himself forward, aiming for that slender ankle balanced on the couch cushions. And this time his fingers closed around warm, damp skin.
Satisfaction surged through him like a hit of cocaine, and he held on tight. She gave a cry, kicking back at him, but he dodged, jerking her foot out from under her at the same time. She turned as she fell, twisting onto her back, pulling her feet up to her chest. Her shoes had long gone and when he made another lunge for her, it was the soles of her feet that caught him, kicking him with such power that he flew back, crashing into the coffee table. The roses went flying, and the glass top of the table shattered as he fell heavily onto it, the unexpected strength of her kick winding him.
She didn’t wait for him to recover, already leaping off the couch and dodging to one side to avoid the coffee table, aiming for the doors that lay behind him.
Adrenaline pumped hard inside him, wild and hot. He had no idea if she’d broken a rib with that kick of hers or whether his back was full of glass from the shattered coffee tabletop, but he didn’t care. Only one thing burned in his brain—he had to catch her. He had to win.
He swept out a foot, heedless of the glass around him, tripping her as she moved past him and she went down, her body once again tucking into a ball and rolling as she hit the floor. He leaped to his feet, excitement burning alongside the adrenaline in his blood, moving fast to where she’d landed, behind one of the white armchairs.
Without pausing, he gripped the chair guarding her and hurled it out of his way. It crashed into the wall, knocking an expensive piece of art onto the floor. He didn’t even notice, too intent on getting to the woman crouching behind it.
Her head came up, her golden eyes like flames, and she exploded out of her crouch, launching herself right at him.
The balls of her. Holy fuck.
She leaped, but his reflexes had always been fast, and this time he knew what to expect. She was going to climb him like a tree, using her own momentum and speed to launch herself over the top of him. As her foot connected with his thigh, her hand grabbing for his shoulder, he angled himself away at the last moment, knocking at her ankle with his forearm. As he’d hoped, her foot slipped, but he wasn’t the only one with super-fast reflexes.
Again, she changed direction, letting herself fall heavily against him and pulling hard on his shoulder so he was bent over. At the same time, her knee came up, aiming straight for his groin.
Her scent hit him as he tried to grab her, warm and musky and sweet, her skin slippery with sweat. Desire rushed in like the tide, dizzying him, so that he almost let her knee him in the balls. But he managed to twist so her knee hit him in the gut instead, knocking the wind out of him.
God, she was strong.
He closed his arms around her, but he couldn’t get a proper grip and was unable to dodge as she launched her fist to the underside of his jaw. It was like getting hit with a jackhammer. His head snapped back, stars exploding, pain radiating out. At the same time, she pulled herself out of his arms, dancing back, her hands up, ready to defend herself from retaliation.
His head rang and he blinked, staring at her. Fuck. The delicious little bitch had hit him. Had actually landed a punch on him. And it fucking hurt. Since when had anyone been able to touch him, let alone land a hit that actually hurt him? Not for years. Not for goddamn years.
Something spiked inside him, something raw and hot, and it wasn’t anger. Christ, he felt … alive. More alive than he had in a long time. Almost as if he’d been awoken from a long, dark sleep by this woman. This burning, beautiful flame of a woman.
He was panting, his jaw aching, blood in his mouth. And his shirt was torn almost open, several of the buttons ripped away. He smiled, never taking his gaze off her. “You’ll pay for that.”
“Will I?” That same hot glitter was there in her eyes, the same thrill. The excitement of having met your match for what felt like the first time. “Only one problem with that. You still haven’t caught me.”
She hadn’t even finished speaking, and yet she was moving, throwing herself toward him. But he’d seen the glance she’d flicked behind him. She was aiming for the doorway again.
This time he didn’t bother trying to grab her. Instead he turned, heading for the doors at the same time she did, hurling himself in front of them as she tried to dodge him and grab for the door handle. He crashed against the wood, knocking away her hand as she aimed a hard punch to his face and avoiding her second fist, her knuckles landing hard on the door with a crunching sound.
He reached for her wrist, but she’d already snapped her hand away, dancing back from him.
Outside the door someone said, “Boss? Are you okay?”
Shit, that would be his guards. They must be wondering what the hell was going on.
Jericho leaned against the dented wood, panting, grinning savagely
at the woman in front of him. “Anyone opens that door and I’ll kill them,” he ordered.
In the muted light of the room, Temple’s naked body gleamed with sweat, red curls sticking to her forehead. Her eyes were on fire, great golden flames lighting up the night.
He’d never wanted a woman so badly in all his life.
After he’d killed off Theodore Fitzgerald, the man he’d once been, he’d spent a lot of time just trying to survive, going from town to town, earning cash under the table, making and breaking plans to take down his father over and over again. One thing he’d always been clear on though—if he was going to take down the biggest and baddest motherfucker on the planet, he needed to be bigger and badder.
So he’d found someone to teach him how to be dangerous, how to take his college boxing and turn it into something more lethal. How to kill. And even now, even when he had bodyguards and guns and a hundred mean and violent thugs at his beck and call, he never let himself become complacent. His skills were still as sharp and as honed as they had been the day he’d first heard about the man they called Jericho. The man he’d killed and then taken his place. The man he’d become.
No one had beaten him, not since that day, but this woman … Christ, she was good enough and just as lethal as he was.
He was going to enjoy taking her down.
Pushing himself away from the door, he advanced slowly. There wasn’t anywhere for her to retreat to since there was broken glass at her back and she was barefoot. Which left her only two options. Head right or head left. She was right-handed, which would give her a natural inclination to head right, and yet, given her already obvious fighting skills, she was probably an expert in strategy too. Which meant she was likely to try a feint right then head left to catch him by surprise.
Sure enough, as he advanced, she feinted right.
He flicked out his left arm, catching her around the waist as she changed direction. She cursed, trying to duck under and slide away, but he twisted with her movement, pulling her into him. They fell and he twisted again so he was on his back and she was held to his front, protecting her pretty skin from the broken glass of the tabletop in the carpet. Full of adrenaline and desire and the wild thrill of the hunt, he felt nothing as he landed, glass crunching beneath him. There was only the heat of her body and the supple strength of it as she lifted her arm and drove an elbow into his gut.
In Bed With the Billionaire Page 8
