“I know. So pretend that the world doesn’t exist for a moment. That the past and the future are meaningless. That I’m not Jericho. That you’re not Temple. We’re just a man and a woman who want each other.”
She wanted to do that. Wanted to do it desperately. “It’s wrong.”
“Yes. It is.” He bit the side of her neck gently, making the breath hiss between her teeth. “But wouldn’t you like, just this once, not to have to fight?”
Her soul ached at the words, and she didn’t know why. Fighting was all she’d been doing her whole life. She didn’t even know what it would mean to stop. “N-No.” But even to herself the word sounded weak. “I … have to keep fighting. I have to.”
He was holding her hands in an iron grip, but now she felt his thumbs stroke the soft skin on the inside of her wrists, sending a cascade of shivers through her. “You care too, don’t you? You care too much too.”
Tears pricked at the insides of her lids, though she had no idea why she’d teared up. Why her throat felt thick.
He’s just like you.
She swallowed, a great wave of inexplicable emotion coming from God knew where. “Yes,” she said quickly, as if she was afraid someone would stop her. “Yes, okay. I surrender.”
It was stupid. Insane. And she’d probably made the biggest mistake of her life, but it was too late. The words were out, she’d revealed herself. And she couldn’t take it back.
Jericho pulled slowly back from her, staring down into her eyes. She couldn’t meet that look, it was too intense, too exposing, so she turned her head away, blinking furiously and hoping like hell the tears weren’t still there.
But he took her chin in his hand, forced her gaze back to his.
“Don’t.” She couldn’t stop the word from coming out.
He stroked his thumb across her lower lip, gentle and soft. “I wanted surrender, Temple. Not reflex.”
She took a shuddering breath. His touch felt like a scrape over raw skin, painful. And yet there was a part of her that yearned for it, that wanted to lose herself in it. Jesus, she didn’t even know why she was doing this, why she’d said she’d give him this.
“It doesn’t mean loss.” The velvet of his voice, all soft, rough heat, felt like the lick of flame. “It doesn’t mean defeat. Sometimes surrendering is the most powerful action you can take.”
“How would you know?” Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes. “Like you’ve ever surrendered to anyone.”
There was a long silence. He didn’t stop touching her, his fingers sliding along her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. There was something so unbearably gentle about the way he did it that it made her throat ache.
She hadn’t ever been touched with gentleness before.
“I have surrendered,” he murmured at last, and she heard the darkness in his voice, the shadow he wouldn’t tell her about. “That’s all I’ve been doing for the past sixteen years.”
This time she did look at him, and this time the bleak expression in his gaze wasn’t hidden, but laid bare for her to see. Despair and weariness and determination all mixed together. The look of a man walking into hell, who knew he had no chance of redemption, yet kept walking anyway.
“Theo.” His name was a murmur and she didn’t even know why she said it.
“I’m not Theo.” There was something unutterably sad in his expression. “Theo died a long time ago.”
Her chest felt tight, pain in her heart. And she couldn’t tell herself any longer that she didn’t know why she cared about that look on his face. She couldn’t tell herself it was inexplicable, a mystery. She knew.
She knew what it was like to keep going, to keep pushing. To cross lines and boundaries normal people wouldn’t even consider going near. And she knew what it was like to accept that there would be no forgiveness for what she’d done, not ever.
She knew what it was like to pursue something even though it meant losing pieces of yourself, because in the end, it wasn’t you who mattered. Only the goal. Only achieving the end you were striving for.
He had done all those things, crossed all those boundaries and lost pieces of his soul in the process.
He was like her. They were the same.
She moved, even though she wasn’t conscious of doing so, rising up on her toes, pressing her mouth to his, a kiss of comfort and forgiveness, even though there could be no forgiveness, not for either of them.
He remained motionless as she kissed him, still as a statue. And then suddenly he wasn’t a statue anymore, his mouth open and hot, his arms tight around her, holding her as if he was afraid she’d get away. He took control of the kiss, and she let him, closing her eyes, melting against him. And this time it wasn’t gentle or sweet. It was feverish and savage and raw, and he took everything. There was no time for breath, no time to even think. She just put her head back and gave him everything he wanted.
His hand swept down her body, cupping her breast, stroking her already hard, aching nipple, making her shiver. The he stroked down over her stomach, reaching for the fastenings of her jeans and pulling them open, pushing his fingers under the lace of her panties, finding the slick, hot heart of her.
She wanted to reach for him in return, touch him the way he was touching her, but she’d promised him a surrender, and so she would give it. And as his finger moved on her clit in a slow, aching circle, she couldn’t even remember why this was a bad idea. Why she shouldn’t be doing this.
There was only him. Only his touch. Only his kiss. Only the beat of her pulse and the deep clench of irresistible desire.
He took his hands away after a moment, sinking down in front of her to get rid of her boots and to pull her jeans and panties down. Then when she was naked, he picked her up, carried her over to the windowsill and put her down on it. The wood was cool beneath the bare skin of her butt, the glass cold at her back.
Oh God, people would see them, wouldn’t they? The sidewalk was right there.
“Wouldn’t the couch be more comfortable?” she asked hoarsely, goose bumps rising all over her skin as he pushed her thighs apart.
His jeans were already open from where she’d pulled at his zipper earlier, and she could see the press of his hard-on through his boxers. His stomach was flat and ridged with muscle, crisp golden hair leading down beneath the cotton. “I don’t want comfortable.” His voice was as hoarse as hers. “I want to see you burn.”
“But I—”
He put a finger on her mouth, stopping her words dead. “Surrender, kitten. You promised.”
She had. So she didn’t speak as he reached into his back pocket and drew out his wallet, getting a condom from it. Biting hard on her lip instead as he ripped the packet open and shoved his boxers down, rolling the latex over his cock. Her fingers itched to do that for him instead, but yeah, she’d promised.
He pushed her back against the glass, sliding one hand beneath her thigh and hooking it up around his waist. Then he pushed the other wide, opening her up as he positioned himself. The sunlight was full on his face, turning his hair and his skin a deep, dark gold, drawing sparks from the molten look in his eyes. There was desire there as he stared at her, and possession, and a complicated mix of other emotions she couldn’t untangle.
“You’re mine,” he whispered fiercely, intensity blazing from him. “From now on, you’re nobody’s but mine.”
She should have hated that, but she didn’t, something way down deep inside her, thrilling to the words. And when he pushed into her, hard and sure, joining his heat to hers, she felt herself tremble. She didn’t want to feel like his, yet she did, the cold glass at her back, him hot as a furnace at her front, deep inside her. Marking her.
His hips flexed again, and the pleasure began to spiral outward, tearing a gasp from her throat. On the pavement outside, she heard people walking by, the sounds of laughter drifting on the air, but suddenly it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
And it came to her that
this was what he’d been trying to tell her. That there was only this moment. Only each other.
Only the pleasure building higher and higher.
She leaned back and put her hands on the glass behind her, bracing herself so she could push against him, increase the friction. She didn’t look away this time either, holding his gaze, letting him see what he did to her. And he was right. Surrendering didn’t feel like a defeat or a loss. As she watched the flames climb high in his green-gold eyes, listened to his breathing come fast and harsh, felt his hold on her tighten, the evidence of his desire for her clear on his face, it felt like one of the most powerful things she’d ever done.
Then, as the pleasure became almost overwhelming, he leaned in close, resting his forehead against hers. And she didn’t think about Thalia or claiming revenge. Didn’t think about the death she was going to have to take.
She just looked into his eyes and let herself have the moment.
Let herself have him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jericho opened his eyes just as dawn was stretching itself over the city. And it wasn’t the earliness of the hour that surprised him as he turned to check the clock on the nightstand. It was the fact that he’d even been to sleep at all.
He didn’t sleep much these days and wouldn’t have thought he had now, but there was nothing else to account for the blank passage of time in between holding Temple’s warm body close and opening his eyes just now.
She was still asleep, twined around him like ivy, breathing deep and slow, and he lay there for a couple of minutes just watching her.
He very deliberately didn’t think of what had occurred between them downstairs the day before. All the things he’d said to her, the secrets he’d revealed about himself, because even though he hadn’t said anything aloud, she’d been able to read him like a fucking open book.
No, he couldn’t think of that. So he thought about what had happened after that instead. Of fucking her up against that window, watching the sun fall across her naked body, turning her hair into a bonfire of brilliant red and gold. The freckles on her milky skin had been like gold dust and the look in her eyes molten.
She hadn’t held back this time. She’d given him everything. He’d seen the aching vulnerability of her beneath that dangerous edge, the little girl who’d never stopped being scared. Because why else did she protect herself so fiercely? Both physically and emotionally?
Her father had sold his oldest child for drugs. Jesus. What kind of childhood had she had?
You know what kind.
Yeah, he did. The kind he saw evidence of every day, in the lives of the girls who got trapped in his network. In the lives of the drug dealers and users he came into contact with all the time. His world …
A world she should never have been a part of, and yet by an accident of birth or a cruel twist of fate or just fucking life, she was.
No wonder she was protecting herself.
She had her head on his chest, strands of red hair falling over her face so he pushed them back, hooking the silken red curls behind her ear.
Her relationship with her sister was obviously important to her, or at least had been, and it made him wonder what exactly Thalia had done for her little sister. Maybe like he had with Violet, Thalia had protected Temple. Maybe she’d kept her safe. And when she’d disappeared …
Cold moved inside him, though what a fucking hypocrite he was to worry about this one small woman, to hope nothing bad had happened to her and yet, knowing what he knew, to realize that something bad probably had. Because something had to have set her on the path toward finding her sister. Toward vengeance.
She’s not the only one. What about all the others?
So many other women who’d had it worse than Temple. So many trapped in the trafficking web who still did. He couldn’t make one woman more special than all the rest, no matter how much his body wanted to. They all mattered. They all needed saving.
Suddenly restless, he eased her off him, untangling her gently so he could slide out of bed. Since going back to sleep wasn’t going to be happening, he really should go do something productive.
His usual schedule was to spend the early hours of the morning in the gym, so he went over to the dresser. The drawers of his Manhattan house were always kept stocked with fresh clothes so he managed to find himself some work-out gear and pulled it on.
Then he went to the door and pulled it open only to find Dmitri leaning against the wall opposite. His bodyguard pushed himself upright the moment he saw him, his expression grim.
Fuck, there was always something wasn’t there? “What?” he demanded.
Dmitri got straight to the point. “It’s Hunt. Someone else made a move on him.”
His gut clenched hard, but he made himself close the bedroom door behind him so as not to wake Temple, a slow measured movement that would give him a chance to get his fucking emotions in order and not let a hint of anything show.
Because all he could think about was the look he’d seen on Violet’s face the day before as he’d stood in the shadows watching her. As she’d turned to see Hunt come toward her, joy brightening her features, happiness sparking in her blue eyes …
Jesus, if Hunt had been taken out, what would that mean for Violet?
“Is Hunt dead?” Another demand, but he didn’t give a shit. He had to know.
“No. But it’s looking like he’s lost control of his Southern operations.”
Jericho folded his arms, keeping his face blank as relief flooded through him. Strange to feel relieved that the prick was still alive when he’d been thinking of taking him out himself.
Dmitri’s gaze narrowed. “This is bad, boss. We can’t be losing operations like this.”
Christ, he had to get himself under control. Dmitri asking questions could lead to suspicions about Violet, and that in turn might lead to the discovery of Jericho’s own identity. It probably wouldn’t mean anything to Dmitri, but he didn’t want the guy knowing all the same. The fewer people who knew who he’d once been the better.
“I know it’s bad,” he said curtly. “We’re going to have to take control before we lose the whole fucking thing.”
“Do you want me to take him out?” Despite the early hour, Dmitri looked like he was ready to kill at a moment’s notice. Then again, he always looked like that. “Should be relatively easy to do since we know where he lives. The place is a fucking fortress, but we have the weaponry to deal with it, I’m pretty sure.”
It was clear from the look on Dmitri’s face and the way he was already looking down the hallway toward the stairs, that he expected Jericho to tell him to go do exactly that.
He’d be waiting a long time.
Taking Hunt out wasn’t going to work, Jericho knew that as surely as he knew the man he’d once been was dead. It was the most logical thing to do, the easiest, and the surest way to take control of the American trafficking networks.
It was what he should do in order to make absolutely sure he took down every single sonofabitch when the time came.
Yet he couldn’t seem to give the word. Because of Violet. Because her heart was involved. And like Temple, he cared. She’d lost a lot, his sister. She’d lost her father, then discovered he’d been a murderer and a human trafficker. She’d lost him too, her brother, and then found out that he was just as stained as their father had been.
She’d lost too much, and he didn’t want to be the reason she lost any more.
So instead he turned and walked down the hall without a word, making for the office at the end of it. Behind him, he heard Dmitri curse then come after him.
Slamming open the office door, Jericho strode in and went over to the heavy oak desk where a sleek silver computer stood. He pressed a button, and the machine woke up, the screen flickering on. There was a map of Manhattan glowing there, a blue dot in the center. Violet’s location. He’d had one of his staff get a lock on her phone and had been keeping tabs on her for the past month, just ma
king sure she was okay.
So far it looked like she was in Hunt’s apartment, so that was good. It would actually be for the best if she stayed there.
“What the fuck is going on?” Dmitri growled.
Jericho didn’t answer him, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his work-out shorts, and texting an order to one of the team who dealt with IT. A minute or so later, they came back with the cell phone number he’d requested. Hunt’s number.
Ignoring Dmitri, Jericho walked over to the windows, looking out over the leafy Upper East Side street. Already people were up and making their way to work as the sun rose, the traffic getting heavier.
He called the number and waited, and eventually someone answered.
“Who the fuck is this?” The voice was deep and gravelly and familiar.
“I think you know who it is,” Jericho said flatly.
There was a silence.
“What do you want?” Just as flat.
“There’s a café near Bryant Park. Meet me there at nine. We need to talk.”
“Why the fuck would I want to talk to you? The only reason I didn’t kill you is because of Violet.”
Jericho stared out into the dawn. “It’s because of Violet we need to talk.”
“I’m not—”
But he didn’t wait to hear what the other man wasn’t, hitting the disconnect button and ending the call. Hunt would be there, he was sure of it. If he cared for Violet, he would.
“Who’s Violet?” Dmitri’s voice was suspicious.
“Hunt’s woman.” Jericho put his phone back in his pocket. “He’ll be very careful with her.”
“Is she a threat or leverage?”
He glanced at the Russian, who was standing near the door, his arms folded. “I mentioned her name as a reminder of what’s at stake.” It was the closest he could get to the truth without making Dmitri suspicious.
The other man scowled. “Why the hell are you setting up a meeting with him? Don’t we want to take him out?”
“No.” He turned and met the other man’s gaze head on. “We don’t.”
In Bed With the Billionaire Page 19
