Deadly Obsession

by Jaycee Clark

  Already he was so hard, he hurt. For months he’d remembered what it was like to be inside her, to be completely surrounded and engulfed by Christian. But what was a little longer? Nothing to him and everything to her.

  Slowly. He wanted to go slowly. Not just for her, but for himself, too.

  Tonight was about cherishing, worshipping, loving.

  Her hands on his arms smoothed over his muscles and back down, a slight caress, but one that went straight to his gut.

  The light in her eyes turned them into deep turbulent smoke, shifting and roiling.

  He traced her brows, her nose, the rise and fall of her luscious lips.

  "Ti amo, mia bella." And she was, beautiful and his and he loved her. Loved her so much he wanted this to be perfect.

  Her tongue darted out and licked her lips. "What did you say?" she asked.

  He only smiled, and bent his head. "I’ll show you."

  The kiss was from somewhere deep within him. He wasn’t good with words, better with actions. Never could he tell her everything he felt for her. Instead, he kissed her, pouring all into that one kiss and hoped she understood.

  Her arms tightened around his back, pulling him tightly to her.

  Skin as soft as the silk of her dress slid beneath his hand, beckoning, urging him onward. The moans in the back of her throat drove him to the brink.

  Slowly.

  He kissed his way down her neck, tasting the scent that was hers, that always reminded him of Christian.

  It was heady and fragrant, as complex as the woman in his arms. He loved that dent, just there in her collarbone. The skin pulled between his teeth as he gently suckled.

  Her fingers ran through his hair.

  Brayden tasted his way back to her breasts. And what absolutely beautiful breasts they were, round, full, high. She always hid them behind too-large shirts and prim clothing. They filled his hands.

  "Have I told you what gorgeous breasts you have?" he asked as he cupped them, and blew across the distended peaks.

  She only shook her head, her eyes locked with his. While she watched him, he lowered his head, kept his eyes on hers while he cherished the bountiful gift she’d been blessed with.

  Watching her, watching him was a fuel to his raging libido. Slowly he licked around the centers, watched her eyes narrow, felt the leap in her pulse. Then he laved the nipple and her eyes slid closed. Brayden pulled her breast into his mouth, suckling, pulling moans from her as she arched against him.

  "Please ... please," she gasped.

  Brayden propped himself on his elbow and looked down at her, at his dark hand against the smooth creamy paleness of her breast.

  "Brayden Gallagher Kinncaid, don’t you dare stop now," she whispered. Her eyes glazed with passion.

  He only grinned and lowered his head again. "Well, if you insist."

  In no time, those sexy little noises she made in the back of her throat filled the room again. He smiled as he continued to kiss every last delectable inch of her.

  If nothing else, he would give her pleasure tonight, no matter how it ended.

  Slowly he traced a line down her leg with his finger, followed it with his tongue. That little spot behind her knee that he remembered from before. He kissed it, laved it, had her squirming as he ran his finger over it. He quickly took the rest of his clothing off and settled between her legs, running his hands up the insides to her knees, then back down to her ankles.

  She was breathing hard. He hoped to hell she didn’t have an asthma attack.

  Christian felt like she couldn’t breathe and it had nothing to do with a panic or asthma attack.

  It was Brayden, his touch, his mouth. Him. Settled there. His hands lit a path up the insides of her thighs.

  Oh God. Please.

  She felt him shift, come up more and then he touched her. Just the lightest of touches, a feather-light caress.

  Her body arched and she couldn’t hold the gasp or the moan of his name in. "Braydennnnn...."

  His breath was hot as he whispered against her thigh, his hair tickling.

  Long supple fingers, parted her, slicked over her, up and down, around and around. Her world tilted as he wove the magic within her.

  Then he muttered something against her and she almost came when he simply kissed her, loving her with his mouth. His tongue laved, licked, promised and drove her to the brink. He toyed with her, alternating between those wicked fingers and that wicked sharp tongue of his. And he was going so incredibly slow.

  "Mia bella," he whispered against her, inside her as he stroked her deep with his fingers, his tongue making her forget who she was. The climax beat its arrival inside her, like angry waves wanting to crash against the shore, but he knew just what to do, to hold the tide back, to make it linger, to prolong the need.

  Christian fisted her hands in the duvet, even as he lifted her hips in his hands. Still he slowly cherished, worked her till she was sobbing. Whispered against her, into her, words she couldn’t understand, until she was begging, so lost in Brayden and what he was doing to her, all she could see was the golden wave he kept just out of her reach.

  And she wanted it. Wanted it until....

  He slid another finger in, just as he suckled her tiny bundle of nerves. The wave roared through her.

  "Brayden! Oh, God! Brayden!"

  She felt herself pulsing against him, and still he loved her with his tongue, his lips, his mouth. He soothed her with the same kisses as he had aroused her with.

  Finally, he kissed his way up her stomach, circling her navel with his tongue, briefly kissing both breasts as his fingers trailed from under them up the sides to her neck.

  His fingers dove into her hair, his palms on her cheeks.

  "Ah, Christian. Ti amo, mia bella. Ti amo."

  She had no idea what he was saying, but in his deep baritone voice, she could care less. It was like thunder promising the softest of summer rains. Gentle, yet cleansing.

  And his eyes. The emotions burning in them, brought tears to her own.

  He must have seen them. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked, kissing her eyes, the bridge of her nose.

  "No," she whispered and rocked her hips against him.

  His shaft was hard and hot against her thigh.

  Brayden propped his elbows, and pulled back, his gaze intense. "Are you certain?"

  And he would stop. If she asked him to, if she wanted him to. She didn’t, and she wouldn’t.

  Smiling up at him, she reached between them and wrapped her fingers around him, satisfaction spearing through her at his sharp intake of breath.

  "I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Make love to me again."

  Carefully, she guided him to her. Their eyes never strayed from the other.

  "I love you," she whispered, letting go of him.

  "This is our night, mia bella. Ours and no one else’s." He cupped her face again, even as she felt him poised at the edge of her. "Say my name," he told her.

  "Brayden."

  He slid slowly into her, filling her completely with love and hope and promise.

  "My Brayden."

  He smiled down at her as he slowly began to move. His eyes that intense blue as he lowered his head, whispering to her. "Desidero fare per sempre l’amore vio."

  She didn’t know what she he said, but she understood it.

  Her eyes closed on a sigh as she began to move with him.

  Brayden watched her, the expressions on her face as they rocked together with ease of time. An age old dance that only varied in posture or tempo. Theirs was a slow adagio.

  God he loved this woman. Loved the smell of her, the feel of her skin against his, her touch on him, her lips on his, her heat surrounding around him.

  He watched the wonder on her face, the joy as he built her back up to join him.

  "Come with me," he coaxed, leaning down to kiss her brow, the tip of her nose, to trace her open mouth with his tongue.

  He controll
ed their rhythm, wanting to prolong their lovemaking.

  She was his. His to cherish, to love, to protect.

  To protect.

  She was his.

  Without realizing when or how, the tempo increased.

  Christian’s moans and pleas filled his mouth, filled his soul.

  God she felt so good, so right. Finally, he felt like he was where he was meant to be.

  He would not go without her.

  "Come with me," he said again, moisture wetting his face. It was hot, and Christian was hotter still, her fire feeding his, urging his. The need blazed through him.

  Her eyes were pools of mercury, emotions shimmering them to silver.

  He leaned over and trailed her ear with his tongue, whispering to her, "Sieta l’amore del mio cuore... la mia vita... la mia anima." And she was, the love of his heart, his life, his soul.

  He felt her vise around him, tighten, even as she arched and screamed in his ear.

  Her scent and yell blinded him to all but being in her. The climax struck like lightning through him, so powerful, he threw his head back and gave her his heart and soul.

  * * * *

  Brayden was heavy. But Christian didn’t care. She couldn’t breathe, but oxygen really didn’t seem all that important.

  He grunted near her ear and she smiled.

  In no time, those eyes pierced down at her as he propped himself up on his elbow and pulled out of her.

  Ebony tresses, stood up all over his head and she giggled.

  He only cocked a brow and wiped his finger across her cheek. Only then did she realize she’d cried.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, concern and worry shadowing his eyes.

  The giggle turned into an outright laugh. "Can you honestly ask me that?" she wanted to know.

  His knuckle brushed wetness from the other cheek.

  "Joy, Brayden. Tears of hope, and joy, and ... and...."

  "And?" he asked, tensed.

  "Love," she pulled his head down to hers. "Love. Amore. I love it when you use those sexy Italian words."

  She felt him relax, his grin hinting at the devilish streak in him. "Really? So now I have to worry about all these Venetian men, do I?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah."

  He leaned down and kissed her. "Guess I’ll just have to keep you busy here with no one but me."

  The thought made her heart race. "Wow. You know that many Italian words?"

  His eyes narrowed on hers. "Care to find out?" His brows wiggled.

  "No, I’m hungry."

  He nuzzled the side of her neck, his teeth gently scraping her shoulder. "So am I."

  Christian shoved against him. "I mean for food."

  His grin was just as wicked as the twinkle in his eyes. "Dessert should always be eaten first, didn’t you know?"

  "And it has been, in case you didn’t notice."

  He settled against her. "Great. Time for the main course."

  She only had time to shake her head before he was kissing her senseless again.

  It was as if they couldn’t get enough of each other. Each wanted more touching, more caressing, more kisses, simply more.

  And each gave it.

  "What did you say to me, before, in Italian?" she whispered hot in his ear.

  Brayden paused, he arched a brow and grinned. "I’m not really sure."

  She shoved against his shoulder. "Excuse me?" Then she laughed. "Here I was thinking it was sexy as hell and you could have been telling me the canals outside were purple."

  Brayden sighed. He wasn’t good with words, but he remembered. And why could he whisper it to her in a language she couldn’t understand, but hesitated to say it to her.

  He cupped his hands on either side of her face. "I said, you were beautiful, my beautiful lady. That I love you." He kissed her, telling her, "That I want to make love to you forever...." She joined in the kiss, twining her arms around him. "That you are my heart." He kissed down her throat. "My life." Another kiss. God he loved the taste of her. "My soul." He kissed the pulse in her neck and possessively slid his hand down her. "Il mio amore."

  His love.

  Brayden rolled to his back, bringing her astride him.

  This time she controlled it all, the tempo, the race to the shore, the prolonging.

  She enjoyed the prolonging.

  It was him who was begging while his eyes burned with a deep blue fire.

  His hands traced patterns over her, driving her to distraction. Finally, he reached between them and found her, and she was lost.

  Completely and utterly lost.

  She was his and no one else’s. He knew now, he’d never make the mistake of letting her go again.

  "Il mio amore," she repeated, her accent pulling a smile from him.

  "My love," he answered her unasked question, and proved the words with his actions.

  * * * *

  A week before Christmas, and still nothing on Josephine.

  "What do you mean?" he asked, as he looked up from the paperwork on his desk. Damn movers. He had yet to find his Waterford ashtray. He’d have to buy another, but he didn’t want another one. He wanted his.

  The man across from him stood, looking at something behind Richard’s head, high above it too. One would think after all the years Ivan Rhistovolich had been in his employment, the man could at least look him in the damn eyes.

  "Sir, I’ve searched all their holdings, every listing I could break into, no one is listed under any Kinncaid or Bills or even Montreaux. I checked Louisiana, but no one fitting her or Mr. Kinncaid’s description, have contacted anyone there," Ivan said, the edge of desperation clear in his voice.

  Ivan was a non-noticeable man for the most part, which was a plus for the tasks Richard had him doing.

  His Slavic features as heavy and well defined as his accent.

  Some people were easily manipulated with fear. It often amazed Richard how incredibly stupid one could be when they were afraid of something. If only they stood back to think, analyze, they might take initiative. Personally, he never allowed them that time.

  Which was why he had to find her--no, needed to find her. He couldn’t allow her to feel safe.

  Now the stakes were higher, much, much higher than before. If she decided to tell someone the truth now....

  Something tingled along his nerves at the thought, but he shrugged it off, rolling his neck.

  No, she wouldn’t. Josephine was too scared, too worried about her precious Kinncaids. There was no doubt in his mind who they would believe should she decide to give bravery a try. The Kinncaids guarded her like one of their own.

  The silence in his study stretched, only broken by Ivan’s cough.

  Richard sighed. "She’ll be back. It’s getting close to Christmas, and they wouldn’t miss that family holiday. The Kinncaids are all about family." The leather of his chair sighed as he leaned back and crossed his ankles on the edge of his desk. "Watch their house. Let me know as soon as you find out anything."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  That was the question, wasn’t it? He was constantly reminded what a detriment keeping Josephine alive was, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Josephine was Josephine, there was no other like her. He leveled a look on Ivan, noting the way the man immediately lowered his eyes. Power was a heady thing.

  Smiling, he sat up. "Why nothing, nothing at all. Just let me know when our prodigal returns, will you?"

  With a wave, he dismissed Ivan and turned to look out the windows. Darkness had already fallen, coating the yard and woods in shadows. A flurry of snow late that afternoon had blanketed the grounds in white.

  Yes, he had no doubt she’d be home for Christmas.

  And when she came....

  CHAPTER FIFETEEN

  Washington, D.C.

  Dulles International Airport was a nightmare anytime of the year, but three nights before Christmas it was hell. Christian was glad they had come home when they had, and not waited until Ch
ristmas Eve.

  Brayden had offered to stay in Venice or even Paris another night. But they decided against it and flew home.

  Christmas lights glittered from a Christmas tree some employee had decorated. People milled and pushed about. The drone of voices cloaked the roar of the planes taking off and landing. Carols played from speakers, the music interrupted as announcements were made.

  It was great to be home.

  Someone jostled her from behind and she stumbled. Brayden caught her arm.

  "You okay?"

  She nodded.

  "Sorry," the man said, hurrying by with a bag slung over his shoulder.

  "Rude ass," Brayden muttered, scanning the crowd.

  Christian glanced around. Brayden was six-four. If there was someone to see, he’d find them.

  "There he is," Brayden’s deep voice said, his hand tightening on her elbow. "Come on."

  The crowd shifted as they walked into the baggage claim area, and she saw Quinlan standing there talking on his phone. She smiled at the familiar sight.

  "Isn’t that a surprise," Brayden said, grinning.

  "Well, as the man is fond of saying, ‘When there’s work...’"

  "‘There’s work,’" Brayden said with her, shaking his head.

  Quinlan saw them, waved, and disconnected with whomever he had been talking. He hurried to them, his long black, woolen coat swirling around his legs.

  His smile was a single-dimpled one, inherited, Christian knew, from his mother. The youngest Kinncaid stopped right in front of them, hugged his brother and stood staring at her, his head cocked to the side and a question in his eyes.

  Christian smiled, anxiety skittering through her, and shook her head. "What? I don’t get a hug, too? Did I get demoted?"

  Quinlan grabbed her in a tight hug. "God, it’s good to have you back home, sis."

  Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Of all the boys, he was the one she felt closest to in a brotherly way. Obviously Brayden was a different case all together. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she pulled back. "That’s more like it."

  "Let me see your hand," he said, setting her back and grabbing her left hand. His deep russet brow cocked as he narrowed a look at his brother.