by J. Kenner
I frown. I'd never considered that. But the blindfold did slip. My clothes were covered with dirt that was easily traceable. I did hear those distinctive chimes, when a five minute difference would have meant I heard nothing. Could Liam be right?
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. "It's not just our kidnapping. What Deliverance does endangers the victims."
"We're saving victims," he counters.
He'd been sitting on the couch opposite me. Now he rises and walks to me, then squats so that he's right in front of me, his hands on my knees. "If it's any consolation, he decided after your TV gig that he had to tell you. But he couldn't do that without letting the others on the team know first. That call you walked in on? After we went through the new case specs, I was going to add the other guys to the feed. Let Dallas tell them he needed to let you in on the secret."
"Oh." I feel shaky. It hadn't occurred to me that he would ever want to tell me, or that he'd made the decision right before I took him to the playroom.
I only knew that he'd been hiding a huge piece of himself from me.
"Here's the bottom line, Jane. I believe in Deliverance. Dallas believes in Deliverance. We're not shutting it down. Probably not even when it's served its purpose."
"Purpose?"
"Why do you think he started it?"
"To find our kidnappers." Of course that's why. Of course he's been searching. Not only that, but I'm certain that he is searching mostly because of me. If he'd been held alone, I think he might have let it go.
I'll always protect you.
I close my eyes, feeling overwhelmed.
Liam doesn't relent. "It's grown beyond the original purpose because the entire team believes in the value--the necessity--of what we do. And the truth is, it doesn't matter if you believe it, too, Jane. All that matters is if you believe in Dallas. If you believe in the two of you."
--
I do, I think after Liam leaves and I am alone again. I do believe in the two of us.
Haven't I been the one all along telling Dallas that we can make it work? Despite family and society and secrets and sex? I've been like a broken record--and now I'm the one who's put on the brakes.
But I don't want it to end. So help me, I want this to be a beginning.
I'm still scared, though. Scared of secrets. Scared that he's angry about the way I left.
Scared that the reason he hasn't called since I walked out is because he thinks we were fools to try to make it work in the first place.
Most of all, though, I'm scared of losing him.
And that's the fear that drives me.
I force myself to shower for the first time since Saturday morning, then head back to the Hamptons. Once again, I'm not sure if he'll be there. Once again, I'm determined to wait.
Unfortunately, that's exactly what I have to do.
"I'm sorry, Miss Jane," Archie tells me. "Mr. Sykes had to go into the office this morning. I expect him back by dinner, though."
"Oh. Okay." I consider going back to the city and cornering him in his office. But I talk myself out of it. "Is it okay if I just hang out? Maybe spend the day by the pool?"
Archie's smile is both polite and gentle. "Of course. I'll go put together a light lunch. Would you care for wine?"
"I can't even begin to tell you how much I would like wine," I admit.
I head inside first to find a book, then return to the pool area. I'm wearing a light skirt with a thin sweater over a tank, so I take the sweater off, find a chaise in the shade, kick off my shoes, and settle in for the day.
I don't intend to fall asleep, but before I walked away from Dallas I wasn't getting much sleep because we'd filled the night with other, more interesting activities. After I walked away, I simply couldn't sleep. Or, rather, I couldn't sleep well. So after a few glasses of wine, exhaustion sucks me under, and I wake only when the mattress on the chaise shifts.
I blink, and find Dallas smiling down at me. "I talked with Liam. And then I went by the townhouse after work," he says. "You weren't there."
"I came here this morning," I counter. "You weren't here."
His mouth twitches with a tentative smile, but it never fully blooms. Instead, I watch as his brow furrows. And when he takes my hand, I hold tight, savoring the connection between us.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. "About Deliverance. About what I do and how it works and why I started it?"
"Yes," I admit. "I want to know everything." I let go of his hand and push myself upright. "But not right now. Now, I just want to ask you one question."
"You can ask me anything," he says.
"Do you love me?"
I see the answer in his eyes before he says a word. "You know me better than anyone, Jane. Don't you know the answer is yes?"
His words fill me, leaving no room for lingering doubts or fears. I ease off the chaise and stand, then hold my hand out for him.
"Inside," he says. "My bedroom."
"Oh, no," I counter, leading him away from the house and to the cabana. "I want to finish what we started."
"Christ, I adore you," he says as he lifts me up. I cling to him as he hurries into the cabana, then tosses me back onto the bed before tying the curtains closed.
"We're going to make this work, aren't we?" I say, and I know that he understands I don't mean just sex. I mean everything. Family. Social taboos. Deliverance. Nightmares and secrets.
"We are," he promises. "But right now, I need you naked."
"Then I guess you're going to have to do something about that."
"Oh, I will."
He reaches for my tank top, but I smack his hand away. He raises his brows in warning.
"You first," I say. "I want to watch."
"Do you? Well, whatever the lady wants."
He strips, kicking off his shoes. Tugging off his socks. He unbuttons his white shirt and slides it off, revealing the sculpted abs I love so well.
Slowly, he takes off his belt, then tosses it aside. Then he unbuttons his pants, lowers his zipper, and eases out of his khaki slacks. He's wearing boxer briefs, and his erection is bulging against the material.
I actually lick my lips out of reflex, making him laugh. "No way, sweetheart. Not until I taste you."
"Finish the show," I insist, and then gasp when he lowers the briefs and his cock, huge and thick and perfect springs free.
The truth is that I do want to feel him inside me, so much that my muscles clench simply from the thought of it. But I am patient. I can wait.
And I will relish every moment of anticipation until we get there.
When he's naked, he moves to me. I'm so turned on that every brush of his skin against mine as he frees me from my skirt and tank makes me shiver. And when he tugs down my silk panties and then raises them to his nose, I writhe on the bed with pure, lustful need.
He tosses them aside, then eases onto the bed. He kisses my lips, then trails more kisses over my aching breasts, my belly, all the way down to just above my mound.
Then he raises his head and gives me a look that says he knows exactly where I want his mouth next, but that I am just going to have to wait.
"Bastard," I murmur.
"Sexy bastard to you," he counters, and I laugh despite him tormenting me.
Slowly, he tugs my legs apart, then cups my pussy, the pressure and the sensation of skin against skin making me even more crazed.
"One day," he says, "I'm going to fill you. I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't know if you want me to stop or to continue."
"Continue," I say as he thrusts three fingers inside, making me gasp. And then he pumps into me, hard and deep. I pound against him, fucking his hand shamelessly. And, yes, I want more. But this feels good. So damn good.
"Your mouth, your pussy, your ass. Every way I can be inside you, baby, I will be. Deep and hot and hard."
"Dallas. Oh, god, Dallas." He keeps his fingers inside me, thrusting hard, then lowers his mouth and sucks on my clit as waves of p
leasure break over me, precursors to an explosive orgasm.
But it's when he lifts my rear and slides a finger into my ass that I really lose my mind. I want to writhe, but I can't. He's wholly in command of me. He owns me, and I am a slave to his touch, his tongue.
More and more, he teases, taking me close and pulling me back. Exhausting me. Thrilling me. I am screaming. Begging. I've never been particularly noisy in bed, but I am now. I want. I need. And I can't hold any of it inside.
And when my release finally comes, I arch up off the bed with such wild, wonderful violence I think that I might just reach the ceiling. When I'm spent and limp on the bed, he bends over and kisses me gently between my breasts. "I think someone liked that."
"Someone definitely did." I push myself up, then stroke the line of hair that arrows down his lower abs toward his cock. "And now I think it's your turn."
He's wonderfully hard, and I close my hand around his cock, then ease up onto my knees to be closer to where he's standing by the side of the bed. I stroke him, enjoying the velvety smoothness, and thinking that I just might want to taste him, too, when his hand closes over mine.
I look up and see that his green eyes are dark.
"What is it?"
"I can't come like that. Not from someone else stroking me, going down on me."
"Oh." I hadn't realized that, and for a moment I'm flummoxed. Then I shrug a little, and lie back on the bed, propped up on my elbows as I face him. "That's okay," I say. "I'll just stay right here and enjoy the view." I know, after all, that he's more than capable of jacking himself off, and I slide my own fingers between my legs in memory of that truly excellent moment on the beach.
"No," he says. "Come here. Behind me."
He sits on the edge of the bed, and I do as he says, my legs spread wide around him so that my thighs are against his hips, and my pussy is against his rear. "Give me your hand," he orders, and when I comply, he curls my fingers over his cock.
"But you said--"
"I said to give me your hand..." He trails off as he closes his hand over mine, and then he guides the action. My palm, but his motions, and it is crazy insane, this feeling of being there for him, for each other.
He grows stiffer under my hand. His cock twitches. His whole body contracts, and I can feel all of it because I'm pressed against him, legs to legs, back to chest. It's as intimate as intercourse, and I am wildly aroused. So much so that I feel his orgasm coming, and when he explodes, I cry out with him, and I swear that I have never felt more close to him than I do in that one, intimate moment.
His release seems to go on forever, and his body shudders in my arms, the pressure of his ass against my still-sensitive clit sending me over the edge again. I cling to him, our bodies shattering together, and then we collapse back on the bed.
"Wow," I say as I move to straddle him while he rolls onto his back. He holds me close, and I nuzzle against him, loving this feeling of skin against skin. "Wow," I say again, then relish the rumble of his laughter through me.
"Look at me," he says, when our laughter has faded. "I love you."
"I love you, too," I say. "So much." I shift so that I can stroke his face, his hair. "No more secrets," I say. "Not between us. Not again. Not ever."
"No more secrets," he agrees. And as he lifts his head and captures me in the kind of kiss that claims my heart and my soul, I think that we have finally crossed a line. That we're going to be okay.
We're in love. We're moving forward.
And, somehow, someway, we're going to make this work.
The vibration of his phone woke Dallas and he reached down to the floor, fumbling for it from the pocket of his slacks. Groggy, he squinted at the screen, saw that it was Liam, and took the call. "What?"
"Are you alone?"
He frowned, confused. "What the hell?" he whispered, so as not to wake Jane, still sleeping peacefully. "She already knows."
"Not about this," Liam said, and the tightness in his voice had Dallas sliding out from under the covers and walking across the cabana to the curtain.
"Tell me."
"We've made progress on decrypting the hard drive we took from Ortega's property."
"You have a lead."
"Yeah," Liam said. "No confirmation yet--so keep that in mind. Maybe it's nothing at all, but..."
"Just spill it."
"Colin," Liam said. "He's all over Ortega's files."
Dallas clutched the phone tighter, not wanting to ask the question--not even wanting to consider the possibility--but knowing that he had to. "Are you saying he's involved with the kidnapping?"
"Hell, Dallas, I don't know," Liam said, sounding completely ripped apart. "Colin's been wrapped up in all sorts of bad shit since we were kids. Maybe he was into smuggling with Ortega. Or maybe they just had a standing poker night."
"Or maybe he's right in the thick of it," Dallas said, shutting his eyes and thinking of the man he'd come to think of as a friend. The man who was Jane's birth father.
"I hope to hell not. But we have to consider it. We have to look harder. Go deeper."
"I know." Dallas sighed, his heart raw. "Fuck."
"You can't tell her," Liam said. "Not yet. At the very least, not until we're sure."
"No," Dallas agreed, closing his eyes against this truth. This secret. "I can't tell her a goddamn thing."
acknowledgments
Writing a book is a solitary business. Sure, an author can call up a friend to bounce an idea or ask a spouse to read over a paragraph. He or she can trade pages, brainstorm with other authors, or participate in writing sprints. And, yes, s/he can pop over to social media for the necessary water cooler moments. Ultimately, though, writing a book is about sitting in a chair with fingers on a keyboard, getting lost in an imaginary world, hanging out with imaginary people, and trying to convince those sometimes obstinate made-up folks to let you spill their souls onto the page.
Contrary to the writing side, the publishing part of getting a book to readers is not solitary at all. And I'm so grateful for the wonderful group of folks that I work with to get my books out into the world. Amazing and talented folks such as Shauna Summers, Gina Wachtel, Sarah Murphy, Matt Schwartz, Jess Bonet, Alex Coumbis, Kelly Chian, Scott Shannon, and Sue Grimshaw, not to mention the copy editors, proofreaders, sales and marketing folks, the brilliant team in the art department, and everyone else at Bantam. And, of course, the amazing people I work with outside of my publisher, including my agent Kevan Lyon, KP and Dani at Inkslinger, the Kenner Krew, my fabulous assistant Melissa, and my husband and partner, Don. Hugs, kisses, and chocolate chip cookies to you all!
By J. Kenner
THE STARK TRILOGY
Release Me Claim Me Complete Me
STARK EVER AFTER NOVELLAS
Take Me Have Me Play My Game Seduce Me Unwrap Me Deepest Kiss
STARK INTERNATIONAL NOVELS
Say My Name On My Knees Under My Skin
THE DIRTIEST TRILOGY
Dirtiest Secret Hottest Mess
MOST WANTED SERIES
Wanted
Heated
Ignited
PHOTO: KATHY WHITTAKER PHOTOGRAPHY
J. KENNER (aka Julie Kenner) is the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, Wall Street Journal, and #1 international bestselling author of over seventy novels, novellas, and short stories in a variety of genres.
Though known primarily for her award-winning and international bestselling erotic romances (including the Stark and Most Wanted series) that have reached as high as #2 on the New York Times bestseller list, Kenner has been writing full-time for over a decade in a variety of genres including paranormal and contemporary romance, "chicklit" suspense, urban fantasy, and paranormal mommy lit.
Kenner has been praised by Publishers Weekly as an author with a "flair for dialogue and eccentric characterizations" and by RT Book Reviews for having "cornered the market on sinfully attractive, dominant antiheroes and the women who swoon for him." A four-tim
e finalist for Romance Writers of America's prestigious RITA award, Kenner took home the first RITA trophy awarded in the category of erotic romance in 2014 for her novel, Claim Me (book 2 of her Stark Trilogy).
Her books have sold well over a million copies and are published in over twenty countries.
jkenner.com
Facebook.com/ jkennerbooks
@juliekenner
The S.I.N. series continues with the seductive follow-up to the Stark International Novel Dirtiest Secret,
HOTTEST MESS
From the New York Times bestselling author of "red-hot and angsty" fiction that "keeps readers guessing" (Publishers Weekly, on Under My Skin).
Read on for a sneak peek!
Available soon from Bantam
My earliest memories are of Dallas. Being with him. Laughing with him.
Loving him.
I don't remember when I realized that it was wrong, when I truly understood that we had to keep our growing desire secret. I only know that it glowed inside us, a spark just waiting to burn. And that when the worst happened--when we were captive together in the dark--we no longer cared about rules and expectations, taboos or punishments.
All we wanted then was to survive. All we cared about was finding comfort in each other's arms, the world outside be damned.
In some ways, those long, dark weeks were the best of my life. Terrifying and horrible, yes, but we belonged to each other. Fully. Completely.
After, in the real world, we were torn apart, everything we'd been to each other pushed aside. Buried.
A precious memory. A traumatic interlude.
A mistake.
Because we are brother and sister--bound as tightly by adoption as if we were tied by blood--and yet equally bound by need. By desire. By love.
For seventeen years, we fought a battle against our desire, but that is over now. Neither of us can fight any longer, and we have succumbed to heaven in each other's arms.
It's a forbidden love, a hidden passion.
It's a secret, and it has to stay that way.
But secrets scare me, because things hidden in the dark have power.
