Her throat tightened, started burning. She waited for more.
His shoulders lifted. “There’s no reason to think she’s still alive,” he said. “But I promised her mother…I was hoping I could tell Sonia something. Put an end to the wondering. I won’t be able to do that now. But fuck it. I probably wouldn’t have been able to anyway.”
She pressed her lips together, hard.
“It was a long shot,” he said. “But since you asked, that’s why I gave a shit.”
The knot in her throat reached critical mass. Tears spilled out.
He looked dismayed. “Oh, shit. Please. I shouldn’t have told you.”
She tried to choke it back. “I’m so sorry. Was she—”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I think about it as little as possible, or else it drives me bugfuck. Forget I said anything.”
His words knocked her back. “OK,” she whispered. “I just meant…I wish I could fix it. I wish there was something I could do. To help.”
His unreadable gaze slid over her bedraggled, torn up, something-the-cat-dragged-in self. “There is something,” he said.
She brightened, mopping away tears with her forearms. “Really? What can I…” Her voice faltered as her body translated what lurked in the hooded depths of his eyes.
Something tightened in answer, low and hot in her body.
How could she even think about sex, after what had happened?
But she was. Oh, she would. In a heartbeat. She ached to grab onto him. He was so strong and solid, seething with energy. So hot.
Of course, she wanted to grab onto anything strong. She felt so vulnerable and scared. She was desperate for comfort, but this man wouldn’t give her any comfort. He was anything but comforting.
He would take, and take, until she was all used up. She could feel his hunger from across the room. And she felt so fragile.
She inched back with instinctive female caution. His eyes narrowed. “For fuck’s sake, cut the scared kitten routine. I won’t force you. I may be an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole.”
Her back straightened up. “I’m not a scared kitten.” She tried to sound dignified, and ended up sounding stiff. “I just thought you were referring to something I could do that was, well, important. Not just…” She cleared her throat, with some difficulty. “…ah, opening my legs.”
“Believe me. You opening your legs feels pretty goddamn important right now.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, a flush of anger heating her from the inside. “Sure it does. Until your hard-on’s taken care of. Then you’ll brush me off like the useless, inconvenient piece of fluff that you think I am, and off you’ll go, to do whatever dangerous crap you do all day, and forget that I even exist.”
He looked cautiously amazed. “Whoa. What, do you feel left out of the action? You mean you actually want to participate in more of this suicidal bullshit? Haven’t you had enough?”
“That’s not the point!” she raged. “I’m just sick of feeling like a…a thing! A toy to be used and passed around!”
He moved so fast, it felt like a split instant. She was across the room from him, and suddenly, her shoulders were clamped in his tight grip. He was lifting her up off her feet and onto her tiptoes.
Her eyes were inches from his searing gaze.
“I never passed you to anyone,” he said, his voice deliberate. “I never treated you like a thing. I killed four men tonight trying to get you out of that hellhole. So you can just back off.”
Her mouth worked, but no words came out. She just stared at his face, immobilized by the anger burning in his eyes.
“Do not blame me for what he did to you,” he said.
“I—I d-don’t blame you,” she stammered.
“Yeah? You don’t? Good. What’s your fucking problem, then?”
She stiffened in his grip, bracing herself by grabbing his broad wrists. “My problem is that look you’ve got on your face, you jerk!” she shouted. “I messed you up, so now I owe you? You saved my life, so I have to give you sex? Is that your macho reasoning?”
A smile touched the edges of his mouth. He set her onto her feet.
“It’s simpler than that,” he said. “My macho reasoning is, every time I touch you, you can’t stop coming.”
The rest of her furious diatribe dissolved in her muddled mind, utterly forgotten.
“It’s some kind of magic.” His voice was ragged velvet. He touched her cheek with a callused fingertip. “The way you go off for me. Like a bomb. It makes me crazy.”
“I—I—”
“But now that you put it that way, it’s true. I have had one bitch of a night because of you,” he said, in a tone of mock discovery. “And yes, babe. You do owe me. Big-time.”
She focused on his wet, bloodstained sleeve. “It’s not that simple,” she whispered.
He rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a genius for making simple things complicated. It was one of the first things I noticed about you.” He glanced at her body. “Actually, more like the sixth or seventh thing.”
She started to shake, fighting hysteria. “I’m not the complicated one. I don’t even know your name! After all this drama, and blood and sex, you’ve never even told me your real—”
“Nick,” he broke in.
She floundered, cut off in mid-rant. “Huh?”
“Nick Ward. That’s my name. Nikolai Warbitsky is the name on my birth certificate. I prefer Nick Ward. Happy now?”
She flapped her jaw, rattled. And moved. Nick.
Oh, please. She felt moved? To have his goddamn name? One of the most common, basic, cheap units of information that human beings could exchange? It was a pathetic crumb he’d offered her, not a precious gift.
Anger at her own deluded self sharpened her voice. “Happy now? Oh, yes. I’m thrilled. That’s the magic word, huh? Tell me your name, and voilà, my legs open, like the Red Sea parting!”
He let out a startled bark of laughter. “Don’t get biblical on me, sweetheart. Make a decision. You going to give me what you owe me, or are you just going to dick me around?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, shuddering with sensation as his hands stroked her bare shoulders. His fingers moved over her skin with a seductive gentleness that belied his words. He pressed his mouth against the top of her head. She felt his lips move against her scalp, felt the warm cloud of each exhalation. His tangled locks tickled her shoulders. Waiting patiently. So sure that he’d win in the end.
“Why do you have to be such a jerk?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he muttered.
His honesty made her bolder. “You make it so hard for me.”
He trapped her easily as she tried to twist away from his grasp. “Yeah, well, tough. Life’s hard for everyone, babe.”
“Shut up. Don’t be flip. If you could just be gentle…” she trailed off in a whisper.
He tried to pull her closer again.
She fought against him. “I want you to stay,” she said. “I want to say yes to you. But when you act like this, it’s almost impossible to do.”
He caught her chin, turned her face to his so she could see the hot gleam in his eye. “Almost?”
“Oh, damn you. Stop it.” Her face went hot, and her chest tightened up. Her heart tripped and galloped. Her throat squeezed shut.
He nuzzled her hair and spoke against her neck, his deep voice vibrating through her whole body. “You want me to go? Say the word.”
She didn’t answer, couldn’t move.
“OK,” he murmured. “I’m not getting a straight answer out of you, so I’m going to interpret that cryptic silence to my own advantage. If I’m wrong, tell me quick.”
She bit her lip. Two tears flashed out of the outside corners and coursed down her face.
His lips moved against her cheekbone. The hot, wet cat rasp of his tongue as he licked them greedily away made a wrenching shiver of pleasure shake her whole body. She felt a tug, a ripping sound, and the soggy peasant blouse was pulled off and flung away. She stood before him, bare naked.
A state of being that was starting to feel alarmingly normal.
She touched his face. “Wait. You’ve got, um, blood on you. I don’t want to look at it anymore. Could we, ah…”
He wrenched his sweatshirt off. His boots followed. He took off socks, jeans, and in no time, a naked man was dragging her into her own bathroom and setting the shower running like he owned the place.
“We could both use a wash,” he said. “It’ll relax you.”
Hah. Not freaking likely. She almost laughed as he muscled her into the hot spray. Relax, her ass. Like she could, with a demanding sexually charged guy crowding her into a steamy corner in her own tiny shower stall. He was all around her, a solid wall of wet, gleaming man flesh, his hairy chest brushing against her nipples, his erection prodding her everywhere she turned. His hands slid all over her body. The shower was ridiculously small for even one normal-sized person, let alone two. She bumped her elbows in it when she was by herself.
And Mr. Big—Nick—was huge.
Chapter
12
B ad idea. Worst one he’d had in a long time. He should leave, run far and fast, forget this chick ever existed. He’d blown the op to keep her safe, and here he was compromising her again.
But he didn’t want to go to his empty condo and sit there on his couch, staring openmouthed into the dark. Deafened by the silence, the flatness, of having failed again. He didn’t want to crawl into the oblivion of a bottle, either. His father’s time-honored solution to all problems.
He wanted to stay right here. With her. This place smelled good, Like her. Fragrant, soft, female. Problematic and complicated, too.
He was going to flood her dinky bathroom, but he couldn’t be bothered worrying about it while resisting the impulse to lift her up, brace her against the wet wall and thrust his prong deep and hard. If they emptied the tank and the shower went cold, he would never notice.
Back off. Go slow. He shouldn’t be making moves on her at all, after what she’d been through. He knew that, but it was just a thought that rattled around his brain, with no executive power, no influence on his behavior, no moral clout. Just a random, free-floating observation.
His, his, his, was the primeval refrain from the deepest part of his brain. He wanted to lose himself in her body, warm himself with her heat. It made him feel alive. And he actually wanted to feel alive.
It startled him. He hadn’t wanted that for longer than he could remember. It was so much safer to be numb.
He knew exactly how a guy sweet-talked women into sex, how to be suave and seductive, blah blah, but he was a slavering wolf thing tonight, lunging at the chain. No games, no charm.
She was motionless, eyes shut, head flung back as he washed her, but he felt her body respond with shivers and sighs, subtle vibrations, a soft yielding to the stroke of his soapy hands. He sudsed up the scented shampoo, working it through her long hair. Frothy clots of foam slid seductively over her curves. The hot water had brought a blush of pink to her translucent white skin. About time. He ran his hands over curves and hollows, soaping and rinsing.
He kneeled to wash her bruised, scratched feet. She hissed with pain, though he was as gentle as he could be. Then legs, knees, thighs. He saved her pussy for last, and treated it like a freshly opened flower, barely touching it. He just caressed it with his fingertips and then rinsed the soap away with the spray from the detachable shower head.
There wasn’t any way to keep his erection from poking and prodding her, so he didn’t try. He put the shower head back, pulled her closer and hoisted up his dick so that it poked upright, sandwiched between their bellies, the heart-shaped head nestled hopefully below her tits. He pressed against her, wondering how to break the passive statue spell. He cupped her ass in his hands.
He nuzzled her earlobe, and took a chance. “Your turn,” he said.
Her eyes fluttered open, as if she’d been in a trance. He put the shampoo in her hand. She gazed at it like she’d never seen shampoo before. He had to prompt her, opening the bottle, pouring it out.
He was mesmerized by the way her tits bounced and swayed as she reached up to soap up his hair. “You’re too tall,” she complained.
He sank to his knees, which put his mouth right at the level of the mound of her soft belly. He nuzzled her, eyes shut as her gentle fingers scraped and scrubbed at his scalp, stroking in fragrant foam.
Oh, God. Huge turn-on. Hot suds sliding voluptuously down his face, stinging his eyes, gliding over his shoulders, plopping around his knees. The view from below of the underside of her tits, the skin of her wet belly against his lips. When the last shampoo was rinsed away, he got to his feet, offered her the shower gel. She looked at him blankly.
“Do exactly what you do when you wash yourself,” he suggested. “The same principles apply. You know, lather, rinse, repeat?”
“Smart-ass,” she muttered, but she was smiling.
He was gasping with pleasure. Her slender hands slipped and slid all over his chest. She lathered up his pit hair, his chest hair, let her fingers trail down over his abs…and stopped. Chickening out.
He waited as long as he could stand it. “Missed a spot,” he prompted.
She let out a nervous sigh, squirted more gel into her hands, rubbed it into foam, and gripped his cock.