by Lora Leigh
Hunger filled the sapphire depths of his eyes, lustful, intent, and she felt powerless in the face of it.
Then his lips touched hers, a slow, almost gentle caress against her lips. And she wanted more. For one insane minute all she wanted was more of him. Harder kisses, hotter kisses. That complete possession she’d dreamed of. As good as it felt, it wasn’t this gentleness she wanted. She wanted to be wild with him. Wanted him as untamed and ravenous as she dreamed of him being.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he whispered against her lips, watching her, mesmerizing her. “All you have to do is ask for it. Or do you want to take it?”
His voice, his expression, was knowing. He knew what she wanted.
“If you need instruction, then perhaps my dreams were just wishful thinking.”
She had time for a breath, a single breath before her senses exploded with pleasure, with Riordan.
He took the kiss. His lips slanted over hers, his tongue pushing past, tasting her, owning her, then igniting a hunger she knew shouldn’t have surprised her.
As he devoured her kiss, he swung her up in his arms, turned with her above him, laid back on the couch, draping her thighs over his, pulling her to him until her nipples were cushioned by the wide contours of his chest.
She felt his cock between her thighs, pressing, grinding against her sex as his lips and tongue continued to drive her insane with need.
She met his kiss, fed from the savagery of each stroke of his tongue against hers, and let him drag her into a swirling, white-hot pleasure unlike anything she’d dreamed.
His lips pulled back from hers, his hands jerking her shirt up.
“Get it off,” he snarled, pushing her arms up, dragging the material over her head, then staring up at her breasts as her arms lowered. “Look how pretty.”
His hands framed her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples as a whispered cry left her lips and she shuddered above him.
“Riordan…” The breathless moan was involuntary.
Her hands gripped his upper arms, fighting to hold on to a semblance of strength as his hips rolled, pressing the hard length of his erection tighter between her thighs. Creating a blistering friction as the heat of his flesh reached through denim and her cotton pj’s to further heat her sex, her swollen clit.
“What, baby? Like that? Is it good?” With thumbs and fingers he exerted just enough pressure to her nipples to leave her senses reeling.
“Let’s see if we can make it better, baby.” He lifted one hand, stroking to her hip, moving her against his cock as his lips covered the tip of her breast and stole any objections she might have thought to have.
He sucked her nipple with firm, deep draws of his mouth. His tongue rasped over it, the heat of his mouth tightening it further.
Sensation whipped from her nipple to her clit, coursing through her body and burning through her vagina. She could feel her juices spilling, dampening her panties, slickening the delicate folds beyond. Slick and hot, they sensitized her clit further, made her thighs tighten on his hips as she ground herself closer.
She was riding him with desperate little movements now, unable to stop herself as he moved from one nipple to the next and feasted on the plump flesh. Firm nips, his tongue licking over each little love bite, then covering the tip, sucking it with those heady, rough draws of his mouth.
Sensation was tightening through her body, pulling whimpering cries from her lips that she knew would shock her later. When she could think again, when she could make sense of this insanity, she might be shocked.
For now, all she wanted was more. She was dying for more. If he didn’t get rid of their clothes, then she was going to go insane. If he didn’t take her, then she might not survive the blistering need burning inside her.
Each draw of his hot mouth, his tongue raking over her sensitized flesh was an agony of pleasure. And it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She ached for more with a violence she could barely contain.
Her hands were buried in his hair, holding him to her as she rode his hips with desperate movements. The stroke of his denim-covered cock through the material covering her pussy was killing her. She had to have more. She had to find a way to assuage the ache …
“Amara…” The bedroom light flared on.
Before the deep male voice processed in her senses, Riordan was moving. She was pushed from him to the seat of the couch, her body hidden as he faced the intruder, weapon drawn, finger on the trigger as Ilya stared at them in shock, and growing anger.
The dragon tattoo moved restlessly against the left side of his face, angrily as his green eyes pierced Riordan with fury.
“She needs to dress. Quickly. And return her father’s call before he ends up coming to this room and killing you,” he snapped. “And perhaps you should try locking the door next door.”
“Try knocking,” Riordan growled, lowering his weapon. “Turn the light off when you close the door behind you. She’ll get to her father’s messages later. She does have a life outside him.”
The door snapped closed, leaving a heavy, dangerous silence in its wake.
“The next time,” Riordan mused as the light went off and the door snapped closed. “I may well kill him. Because I know that goddamned door was locked.”
Just as she knew, because she had watched him lock it.
chapter six
Riordan was waiting for her the next morning.
After the interruption the night before, he’d pulled her to his room, told her to go to bed while he changed her locks, and promptly disappeared back to her room. And every attempt she’d made to watch him had resulted in this “look” that he’d sent her. One that assured her if she didn’t return to the bed alone, he’d join her.
There was something about the hunger in his eyes then, the brooding sexuality and sheer lust that brightened them, that sent her scurrying back to his room. Not in fear. And even now, she wasn’t exactly certain why she’d been wary of that look.
But it hadn’t completely disappeared.
The moment he saw her his gaze moved from her black pumps to the tailored black wool skirt and cherry red snug sweater. He lingered at the hint of cleavage above the tiny black-pearl buttons then lifted his gaze to her eyes with a gleam of amused interest and deepening lust.
And why that look set her heart racing and made her breasts suddenly feel far too sensitive, she wasn’t going to even try to understand.
“I didn’t think I needed another bodyguard,” she said as she strode away from him and headed for the stairs.
“Well, you never know,” he suggested, following behind her. “And since your father’s trying so hard to get rid of me, I thought it best to be diligent.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Since when do cowboys use fifty-cent words? ‘Diligent’? Really?” Turning, she shot him a mocking look only to narrow her eyes at the realization that he had been staring at her butt.
He’d done that before, she realized, as the memory suddenly just materialized. She’d caught him watching her butt as she walked more than once when he’d first come onto her security detail.
Unlike other agents he hadn’t pretended he hadn’t done so, nor had he been embarrassed or defensive. He’d lifted that arrogant brow over those intent blue eyes and all but laughed at her indignation.
“Really,” he agreed, completely unapologetic that he was caught. “Though I rather doubt the word is worth fifty cents in this day and age. You’d be lucky to get a good penny for it. And if you don’t want me to admire that cute little ass, don’t display it so pretty. That’s like telling a man he can’t look at the sunrise, the sunset, or any other work of heavenly art. Not gonna happen.”
He was going to be a problem, she could feel it. Hell, she already knew it.
“Find something to do rather than harassing me this morning,” she demanded. “I’m tired of arguing with arrogant men. And try to look at something other than my ass. Unlike a sunrise, sunset, or other
heavenly works of art, I’m more than just a cute butt.”
She turned away and made her way to the stairs. As she entered the foyer, she met Elizaveta and Grisha, though she pretended to miss their questioning looks as they noticed Riordan behind her.
Five-six, slender and well-toned, her features austere and pretty, Elizaveta wore her thick blonde hair in a neat braid. She wasn’t anyone’s first thought of what a bodyguard looked like. Her twin, Grisha—nearly eight inches taller, with darker hair but the same gray eyes—suspicious watched Riordan. He had the look of a rough and ready Nordic sex god, one of her friends had sighed.
At six-two, with his short growth of beard and his slightly too long black hair falling around his sun-weathered features, he looked like one of the heroes in the action adventure movies she was so fond of. A look she much preferred, she thought in resignation as she realized she was comparing the two.
“The car is ready whenever you are, Amara,” Grisha informed her, his accent, despite his perfect English, still layered his voice.
“I’ll need my tablet from the office—”
“Excuse me, but I wasn’t informed you were leaving the house this morning,” Riordan cut in. His voice, despite its mockery, was dark with an undercurrent of warning.
Yeah, well, he could have been informed.
“You wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell you last night.” Shrugging, she headed past the stairs, through the hall to the other side of the house and the office her father had given her to work in.
She was all too aware of the fact that he was behind her, and Elizaveta and Grisha were not.
Nearing the door, she reached out to open it when she suddenly found him in front of her, all six-two, two hundred forty-five pounds of him. For a second, the warmth of him, the sheer power he radiated, wrapped around her.
Taking a deep breath, she stood back patiently she allowed him to open the door to the office and flip the lights on. Looking around the small room with its desk, sitting area, and shelves, he stepped inside and motioned for her to come in.
“That’s just overkill.” Shaking her head, she stepped to her desk, collected her tablet and the leather coat she’d left on the chair several days before.
“You wouldn’t feel that way if someone had been in here waiting here for you.” The amusement on his expression was beginning to irritate her.
“Sorry, Riordan, but I just don’t see an attack coming from inside my office.” At least, so far it hadn’t. The last one had come through the front door of the New York penthouse.
Or so she’d been told.
It wasn’t that she remembered the attack, but something just hadn’t felt right when she’d been given those particular details.
As she started for the door he slid in front of her again, blocking the open doorway as he stared down at her, no longer amused or openly flirtatious. Pure arrogant command defined his expression.
“Where do you think you’re going this morning?” he asked her, appearing about as immoveable as the wall next to him.
Why did men think it was okay to use their much larger bodies in such a way? That if they couldn’t force women to do as they wanted by any other means, then they could use their bodies in some ways?
“I simply hate it when men think muscle is all that’s needed to get their way,” she pointed out calmly.
“Don’t even try that argument,” he quickly shot back as if her argument was one he was well familiar with. “I have a job to do, as do you. My job is to keep you alive, and yours is to live. Remember? I’m willing to work with you to a point, to make it as painless as possible—could you do the same?”
The strangest sense of déjà vu overcame her. As though she knew she had lived this moment, heard those words before, even though she couldn’t explain how it felt so familiar.
“I tried to tell you about the meeting last night.” The anger brewing inside her wasn’t familiar. “I’m meeting with Poppa’s lawyer in forty minutes, Once that’s finished, Elizaveta and I have a spa appointment—and that, I refuse to miss. You’re not supposed to be my bodyguard, Riordan, but my past lover. So, try acting less like a bodyguard if you don’t mind.”
His lips thinned marginally, irritation gleaming in his sapphire eyes.
“Let’s go. We’ll deal with this when we get back.” She rather doubted the coming confrontation could be considered “talk.”
“I didn’t invite you.”
Before she knew what he intended, he had her back against the door, one hand at her hip, the other in her hair, pulling her head back, and he was kissing her.
It was a kiss of pure demand, of hunger, of lust at its most potent. Pure. Hot. Intoxicating. It reminded her of the interruption the night before, and reminded her that his patience was wearing thin. He’d join her in the bed, his or hers, soon.
“Fuck!” Jerking his head back, his breathing harsh, he stared down at her, his gaze going over her expression. “You look good enough to eat. For hours. And I’m a damned hungry man, Amara.”
Lips parted, fighting to breathe, let alone think, it was all she could do not to beg him to force her to cancel that meeting for his bed.
“Let’s go before my control is shot,” he muttered, easing her back from the door and opening it with a quick, controlled move. “If we don’t go now, we won’t be going.”
She left the room in a daze, leading the way to the foyer. She was off balance now, more aware of him than ever.
“Remember that whole ‘working together’ thing?” he reminded her. “Or do I need to give you lessons again?”
Working together? She had a feeling it wasn’t so much working together as it was being dragged along in his wake.
Protesting wouldn’t do her much good, and arguing with him would be like talking to a brick wall. Pure stubborn arrogance was simply a part of him. She could see it in the set of his shoulders and in the hard gleam of determination in his gaze. Besides, her brain was still a bit scrambled from that kiss.
And she wasn’t quite as certain of where this was going as she had been the week before. She wasn’t quite certain how she felt about him. She wanted to say she didn’t like him, but each time she tried that thought out for size, the discomfort in it made her a liar.
Resigning herself to being stuck with him for the day, she followed him to the limo and with Grisha and Tobias in a vehicle behind them, she counted herself lucky that Elizaveta remained in the vehicle with her. She was going to establish rules to this little joint effort between them it seemed.
Though she had a feeling it was fast passing the point where he could be controlled. If that point had even existed at any point. She doubted anyone had controlled that man since before he was a toddler.
And she knew that as far as he was concerned, he damn sure wasn’t going to be controlled now.
* * *
The spa was just what she needed after meeting with the lawyer, Amara thought as she and Elizaveta relaxed after the masseuse had finished their massage. Hours of pampering, chocolate and champagne, manicures, pedicures, and waxing.
She remembered before when the trip took longer. When her long hair would have been trimmed, conditioned, and babied until it lay like a silken ribbon around her, the thick, heavy mass gleaming with a life of its own.
Before it had been chopped off.
Lying facedown on the massage table, she restrained a sigh of regret. She missed her long hair falling around her body now. Missed the sensual feel of Riordan’s hands burrowing into it, clenching on the strands, and sending those exquisite little sparks of heated pleasure across her scalp and racing over her body.
“I was surprised to see Riordan return,” Elizaveta murmured, dragging Amara from her thoughts. “Your poppa informed us this morning he is once again head of your security. That part did not surprise me perhaps.”
The soft accent was tinged with a questioning tone.
“He didn’t tell me.” Amara turned her head and gazed back at her
friend with narrowed eyes. “I’ll have to ask why he didn’t.”
Elizaveta’s expression was filled with concern.
“I did not know you were involved in such a way with him before the kidnapping,” she said softly. “I would have told you … when you asked if you had a lover … I would have told you, Amara.”
She would have, Amara knew that.
She and Elizaveta had been friends since childhood. She, Grisha, and Ilya were siblings, and such a part of Amara’s life that she wasn’t certain what she and her father would do if they were no longer there.
“It would seem no one knew.” And she couldn’t imagine why Riordan had allowed that, let alone why she had done it.
She could guess though. She knew how her poppa was, his little rules concerning any man she became involved with and his habit of firing them if it seemed she was interested in them.
Yeah, she would have tried to keep her relationship with him as secret as possible. But as she and her father had learned, Riordan wasn’t going to be secret. And why did that cause a tingle of excitement to race through her?
Just knowing Riordan was there, waiting for her, watching her back, part of the worry had eased but it was replaced instead by a dark excitement she had no idea how to make sense of.
“Do you love him?” Amara asked, still watching her, her gray eyes intent, concerned.
Did she love him?
She did. As illogical as it seemed, she knew she loved him.
“That look on your face, it is all I need.” The wistful sound of Elizaveta’s voice reminded her there was a reason why her friend would have a reason to see another’s emotions with such bittersweet envy.
At nearly five years older than she, Elizaveta with her tall, slender body, her training, and confidence in her abilities, loved a man who had forgotten how to love a woman a long time ago.
“I’m very happy for you, Amara,” her cousin said softly. “I’m not jealous. Well, just perhaps just a bit.” Amusement lit Elizaveta’s gaze then. “Just a bit.” She held her hands out to indicate a good two feet rather than mere inches.
