I actually gulped beneath the erotic intensity of Abraham Royal studying me like a gourmet dessert he couldn’t wait to savor.
“I am… sorry if it upset you,” I managed. Whispered. “Truly, I am. That was the first time I’d done that since I was a teenager.”
He was watching my lips. Staring at my fingers. Staring at the marshmallow, dripping into my palm. I licked more sugar from my thumb, sighed a little with happiness. It was good. Campfire marshmallows were a brand-new experience for me.
“Why didn’t you give me your real name?” I asked, nudging his knee with mine.
“I stand by that man on vacation is my legal name.” Lips quirked, dry tone, Abe Royal was flirting with me.
“Don’t you dare try to get out of the hot seat.” I pointed my marshmallow stick right at his heart. “Truth for truth. You know the drill.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Honestly? I’m not quite sure. I’ve never done that before. I’ve picked up women, enjoyed sex with strangers where we only exchange first names and pertinent health information. But never once have I given no name on purpose.”
I mirrored his earlier action, waiting for the truth to appear.
“I do need a vacation.” He sighed. “And I really, truly have not had fun in an awfully long time. You were…” He paused, ran his tongue along his lower lip. “You were the most captivating woman I had ever seen, Sloane. Not being an obsessed workaholic for one night—not being Abraham Royal—was suddenly a very alluring option for me.”
This time, I handed him a marshmallow. He took it, popped it into his mouth with sparkling eyes. I laughed. “Talk about alluring.”
He swallowed. “Did that answer your question?”
I nodded, bit my lip. “There’s a real thrill in being another person for a night. Flirting with a stranger at a bar for no reason other than the pleasure of it.”
“Does breaking the rules give you a thrill?” He was still staring at my mouth.
“Not usually,” I said, heart beating fast at his nearness, the scrape in his voice. “Only if I see the action as a means to a greater end. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do, for example, to bring down a person as evil as Bernard. Even if that means bending the rules a little.”
“We do that too,” he said. Swallowed hard. “At Codex.”
“Do you like bending the rules?” I asked, transfixed.
Abe slipped his own thumb between his lips—just the tip—sucking sticky sweetness from the end. Desire was a drumbeat between my legs. If I touched myself now, I knew I’d be wet.
“I am usually well-known for my integrity,” he admitted. “And my stoicism. Chaos, spontaneity, fun…” He paused. “These things aren’t in my repertoire. Makes integrity and conforming to the rules a lot easier.”
“Should fun become part of your repertoire?”
His thumb swiped across his bottom lip. “I never thought so before,” he whispered. “Perhaps I need to open myself up to being convinced.”
He wrapped his fingers delicately around my wrist. Just held it there. Tightly. “I’ve enjoyed bending the rules for Codex more than I’ve ever actually admitted. To anyone.”
“What would convince you to break a rule now?” I was fucking spellbound. Abe brought my hand toward his face. Turned it left and right. My index finger was still covered in sugar.
He stared at me, arched one brow. I knew what he was searching for—any signs of unease.
I had none. So I pushed my finger against his lips, granting permission.
He took the digit into his mouth.
My breath caught; my sex clenched. I felt his tongue, the light scrape of his teeth. In slow, dreamy motion, he dipped his mouth to my palm, tasted the sugar there. Kissed it. Kissed right below it. Kissed the pulse point at my wrist. Slid my thumb between his lips.
Bit down. He appeared savage in the most intoxicating way. I was burning up with lust and frozen in place—enraptured, entranced. He kissed my wrist again, an inch lower. Lingered, exploring me, inhaling me.
“Abe,” I said, voice a velvet plea.
“Ask me again,” he demanded.
“What would convince you to break a rule now?”
He scraped his teeth across my skin. And pinned me in place with a gaze full of dangerous things. “You, Sloane.”
25
Sloane
You, Sloane.
Every remaining rational, logical thought in my brain fled at the speed of light. The fire crackled next to us, surrounded by green, leafy privacy, enveloping us in electric heat and seductive darkness.
Abe’s lips continued their journey up the inside of my forearm, the crease of my elbow. His other hand slid around my waist, palm big, firm, confident. Held me close to him, so close my leg rose, curved against his body.
“When we… when we first met,” I whispered. “You told me I’d know when you were about to kiss me.” He scraped his teeth across the ball of my shoulder. I shuddered, skin buzzing.
“I’m about to kiss you, Sloane,” he said, the words rough, hot, vibrating with need. His mouth moved across my collarbone—each kiss sure. Hard. Singular. My hand flattened against his firm belly, slid up the planes of his chest. The other gripped the hair at the back of his neck.
And my leg rose higher. Higher still. His fingers left my waist, slipped confidently along the curve of my thighs.
“I knew you were a rule breaker,” I panted.
Abe’s mouth was on the front of my throat. I tipped my head all the way back, ends of my hair brushing the couch.
“Only for you,” he said. And since we weren’t meant to lie to each other, the brazen truth in his words had me holding him closer, a gasp slipping from my lips. “Because I didn’t know breaking the rules would feel like this.”
I clung to him now. His right hand was moving beneath my skirt, and his fingers caressed my ass, squeezing. But his left hand gripped my face hard, holding me still, fingers in my hair. Possessive as hell.
“What does it feel like?” I asked. His mouth had arrived fully at my ear, and desire detonated inside of me. Abe was tilting me back—back—back, pressing me onto the cushions of the couch. In this bar. Surrounded by people. Were we tailing someone? Did we have a case? Did I have a single need in the world besides the delicious sensation of his strong body on top of mine?
“I am utterly bewitched by you,” he whispered. “Spell-bound. Charmed. Whatever you’ve done to me, this electricity I can’t shake, don’t want to shake, I’m addicted to it now. There’s no other explanation for why I can’t keep my hands off you. Can’t stop thinking about you. For fuck’s sake, you’ve been in my dreams every goddamn night.”
He punctuated his dirty words with a brutal bite to my earlobe. A kiss at the corner of my jaw. More along my jaw. My cheek. My own mouth was wide open, waiting, desperate for his kiss. Instead of diving in, like I so desperately needed, he pressed our foreheads together. Our shared breathing came in short, hard pants.
“Why?” he demanded. “You’ve turned me into an animal when I’ve only ever been a man. How?”
Devastation.
I’d known it. Known it from the very second I’d first caught his eye. His lips hadn’t even touched mine yet, and I was already ruined for all other men, all other kisses. I tipped my lips up, seeking, but he kept us apart. Abe pinched my chin. Lifted my gaze to meet his. I knew what he wanted from me. We were no longer doing shots of vodka, but we were still playing truth or lie.
Abe wanted my next truth.
“You’re the first man to ever catch my dishonesty,” I said. His nostrils flared. “The first man to ever catch me tailing him. The first—” I swallowed hard, scared to reveal the final one. “The first man to ever make me feel so out of control. And trust me when I tell you I don’t let myself lose control. Ever.”
He blew an angry breath through his nose. “Then why is this happening to us?”
“Because we’re the same,” I said. “Don’t you see it?”
> Slowly, so slowly, he dipped his mouth toward mine. Not like we were in the middle of a bar. Like we were lying on his bed, with hours of pleasure ahead of us. When our lips met, a bolt of ecstasy shot right through my core, brought actual tears to my eyes. Not tears of grief or sadness—I didn’t cry—but a sensation more primal than that, a consequence of consuming lust, finally freed. Abe kissed me. Sweet at first, only a brushing of our lips, like he was again testing for hesitation.
I had not an ounce of it.
His mouth grew shockingly strong, firm, confident, like every other part of him. My hands slid through his hair, and my tongue slipped between his lips. I deepened our first kiss, opening for him like a bouquet of flowers. And with a possessive groan, he released the final latch on his restraint and devoured me.
I was more than happy to be his for the taking.
26
Abe
We’re the same. Don’t you see it?
For the millionth time since meeting her, Sloane Argento had bested me. Cutting through my best defenses and scaling my walls with ease. Maybe my fortress-high walls were there for a reason. Maybe Sloane was the woman meant to climb them—her and only her.
Besides the overpowering desire, the fraught lust, the total pleasure of finally kissing her was a deeper emotion. Deeper, troubling, and absolutely complicating.
My heart.
The organ in question thrashed wildly against my ribcage—so untidy, so chaotic. The exact opposite of what I thought I’d wanted for my life. Yet what I wanted was the raven-haired goddess writhing beneath me right now as our lips bruised each other.
I’d been right—Sloane was all flashing teeth and long, sultry kisses, her body equal parts lush and dangerous, softly voluptuous and ridged with strength. She was a goddamn bombshell, and for some reason, she was as drawn to me as I was to her. My fingers teased along the curve of her round ass, gripping her hip beneath her tantalizingly short dress. My lips moved back to her neck, needing to taste her skin. I breathed in the scent of her hair, wrapped the strands of it around my other hand, pinned her down so I could more easily savor her.
Although ravish was a more accurate description of what I was doing to her right now. I licked her collarbone, tongued the swell of her breasts, pushing up from her dress. Took the side of her neck between my teeth, bit her like a fucking vampire. She responded by gripping my cock and giving it a delicious drag of her fingers.
“Sloane.” Was that my voice—ragged and rough? She crashed her mouth against mine again, palmed my cock, whimpered with pleasure as I growled and lost my mind.
She bit my bottom lip, tugged it. I sat up, brought her with me, my hands moving up her spine to grip big fistfuls of her untamed hair. She held my face, kept our mouths an inch apart. Her gorgeous legs were straddling my waist. I could feel the heat of her pussy through my pants, knew she’d feel so sweet, taste so sweet.
Actually, sweet wasn’t the word. Intoxicating. I was drunk out of my goddamn mind on Sloane, who was staring at me with absolute vulnerability. How was that possible? But there she was—open for me, still an ancient, warrior goddess but a humble one, a seeking one.
My heart noticed. Responded. God, no, my subconscious yelled. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be staring at me like this, emotions out of control and messy and needing me. I didn’t do need. I didn’t do yearning.
So why couldn’t I stop staring at her like we were lovers reuniting after years apart?
“Abe?” she whispered. “What just happened to us?” Her thumb traced my lip. I kissed it. She dipped her head back down, kissed me, lingering, breathing me in. My hands moved over her body, tugging her closer, fisting in her hair again.
What just happened to us? The fuck if I knew. I only knew a desire so compelling I didn’t care if we were wrapped around each other in the middle of a fucking bar, in the middle of a fucking case, waiting for Eudora to—
In the middle of a bar, in the middle of a case.
My body froze, my hands froze, my eyes flew open—and Sloane sensed my shift in focus.
“Shit, we can’t be—”
“Oh my god.” Our server screeched to a halt by our table, so surprised by what she saw that she dropped her tray of drinks. In a second, glasses were tumbling to the ground, glass shattering, the hostess exclaiming.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Sloane said quickly, launching off my lap and dropping to the floor. She grabbed the woman’s hand.
“We’ll clean this up. It’s our fault,” she said.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t, um, I mean, we can’t have you—” She flushed, visibly shaken. I felt like an ass. I made a mental note to leave the largest tip possible for her before we left tonight. A tip and a written apology.
“We’re so sorry,” I said, placing the tray back in her hand as Sloane scooped up ice. “It’s our fault. Things got out of hand. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s a romantic place,” the server said. “You’re certainly not the first couple or, rather, group of people I’ve caught snogging each other’s brains out.”
Sloane and I both sputtered a little, shook our heads. Avoided eye contact completely.
“Can I bring you replacements for your drinks?” she asked.
“Please,” Sloane and I said in unison. Although I still wouldn’t be touching a drop of it. Everything about this situation and my instincts had already been compromised by that kiss.
As if sensing my thoughts, Sloane stared up at me from her position on the ground, holding tumblers and napkins. Her lips were parted, chest still heaving slightly. The server scurried away, and I reached out, squeezed Sloane’s shoulder. She covered my hand with hers, and we both took one, long, steadying breath together.
As if realizing what we’d done, we both let go and avoided eye contact again. How many times was I going to keep turning to this woman during any time of emotional distress?
I glanced at my watch. 7:25. Cursed beneath my breath. Had we missed Eudora, our one strong lead? Missed her because we’d broken the most important rule we had?
And I’d been the one to initiate.
I clenched my fists for a moment but kept helping Sloane clean. She was distracted, staring through the leafy branches.
“Abe,” she said sharply.
I was there in a second. She moved, pushed my head where hers had been. I was able to line my sight right at the break in the branches—and see Eudora Green drinking a glass of red wine with Peter Markham, the grandson of Nicholas and current owner of Adler’s. My brain made a last-ditch effort at recognizing Peter’s face before giving up. Finally seeing him in person was making me doubt the memory of seeing him before.
Sloane’s cheek was next to mine as we watched them both, how out of place they looked surrounded by hipster couples and botanical cocktails. Sloane grabbed my hand—less romantic and more investigative.
“There’s the bookstore owner,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said slowly. “Maybe they’re meeting about the auction?”
We watched for another second. “Have we visited the bookstore yet?”
“Not yet, although I did peek inside.” She shifted, gently moved a leaf out of her line of sight. “Look at her body language. She’s pissed or worried or both.”
“A nervous Eudora with the grandson of the former Society president,” I murmured, trying to tie the two threads together.
Peter Markham was speaking emphatically. Eudora was shaking her head. Trees and bushes were in the way of hearing them or reading their lips accurately.
“This used to be her weekly meeting with Bernard,” Sloane murmured.
“Maybe Eudora does know where he is,” I said. “The little minx.”
Eudora took a piece of paper passed to her by the bookstore owner. Slipped it into the front pocket of her long skirt.
“What are you doing now?”
Sloane and I peered up from where we were crouched on the floor, surrounded
by glass and ice cubes. The server seemed even more concerned than last time, although she was holding a much smaller tray now.
“Funny story,” Sloane said. “Some of the glass went into the bushes so we were trying to find it.” Sloane stood, held out a palm with glass and drink straws in it. The server looked about to call us on our bullshit.
As did Eudora Green, who appeared behind her with an especially feline smile. Not domesticated. More panther-like. Peter’s wary expression was easier to read.
“Funny story,” Eudora said. “Because I just caught these two spying on us.” Her scary smile became a very angry scowl that raised the hair on the back of my neck.
Had Eudora uncovered the real identities of Devon Atwood and Daniel Fitzpatrick?
I didn’t risk making eye contact with Sloane—attempted instead to rise from the floor and tidy myself with as little fanfare as possible. Next to me, Sloane did the same—her posture and smile held even more of a silent deadly cat feel than Eudora’s. Despite the mounting tension, I felt a real thrill at having this woman, my partner, next to me. I had not a doubt in my mind she’d fight tooth and nail. And win.
“Spying seems like a strong word. We were merely excited to see our favorite president while out on the town enjoying a cocktail,” I said mildly. I straightened my immaculate tie as the server looked between the four of us.
“Sure, yeah,” she said. “I’m going to go now.” The woman turned on her heel and left.
“Truly, it’s lovely to bump into you here, Eudora,” Sloane said. Her hair still fell in elegant waves down her back. No sign of the havoc my hands had wreaked to her curls. “And I’m not sure we’ve officially met. Devon Atwood. This is my friend, Daniel.”
I had my eye on Peter, whose rangy energy was distressing to say the least. He took a step back and refused to shake her hand.
Something was wrong.
In the Clear (Codex Book 3) Page 18
