Kidnapped by the Billionaire (31 page)

“This
is
for me.” He slid one hand further over the curve of her buttock, reaching down between her thighs, and she groaned as his fingers stroked the exquisitely sensitive flesh at the entrance to her body. “All of this is for me. And now you're going to scream for me because that's what I want too.”

And she understood at last. This was a test and he wasn't going to drop his guard until she'd passed it. But then that made sense, didn't it? Especially when he'd spent so long defending himself, keeping himself protected. He wasn't going to be vulnerable for her just because she'd asked. His trust had to be earned.

She blinked as another thing occurred to her. Was there anyone else he trusted since his wife had died? Oh, but she knew the answer to that. No, there was no one.

No one except you.

Violet took a shuddering breath as his fingers moved suddenly, sliding deep into her sex, bowing her spine, her body arching, bringing her clit hard against the agonizing ridge of his cock. And the tight little knot inside her released in a white-hot wave.

She screamed like he'd told her to and when his mouth covered hers, she screamed again, her whole body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through her, making her shake and tremble in his arms.

Elijah's hold tightened as the intensity began to fade, leaving her knees weak and her heartbeat racing out of control. She could barely stand and her ears were ringing.

Jesus, she really should have foreseen he'd take control like this because that's the kind of man he was. After so many years spent looking after no one but himself, he wasn't going to leave himself open to just anyone, still less a woman he'd taken captive and only known a couple of days.

Still, she'd desperately wanted to look after him. Give him something to take the pain away, if only for a little bit. Was it too much to hope for that after he'd let her take care of that gunshot wound, given her the code for the door, and let her call her mom, he'd let her give him pleasure too?

Did you really expect he would?

She had. Kind of.

Elijah's hold on her shifted, the hand between her thighs moving up to rest on her lower back, his arm tight around her. He lifted his other hand, running the pad of his thumb along her lower lip.

She gave another helpless shiver at the touch, the aftershocks of her orgasm sparking like cut electrical wires, and tipped her head back slightly, meeting that enigmatic black gaze.

He was a beast of a man, that's what he was. Dangerous. Merciless. Wholly unpredictable. But she knew why that was now. He was wounded inside, hurting from a blow that had never healed, a loss he'd never come to terms with.

Because he doesn't want to heal it or come to terms with it.

As Violet looked up into his face, she knew the truth. Of course he would never want the wound to heal, because he needed the pain. It fueled his anger, and without his anger he wouldn't have his revenge.

Which means he'll never let you get near. He'll never let you help him.

His physical wounds maybe. But his emotional ones? No.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, a bleak certainty filling her. And she didn't try this time to ask herself why that thought made her so upset because she knew.

She'd fallen for him and she had fallen hard.

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Elijah kept a tight grip on the woman in his arms. She swayed against him, all soft skin and naked heat, her vivid eyes clouded with pleasure. But there was something else in her expression too, and he thought it looked like bitter disappointment.

Of course it's disappointment, you fucking prick. She wanted to give you something and you wouldn't let her.

But what the fuck else could he do? Marie and what had happened to her, how he'd failed her, were out of bounds. He wouldn't ever tell anyone, a secret he would keep until he died. And if that caused Violet some disappointment, then so be it.

He just hadn't expected that it would cause him pain too.

She turned her head away, resting her forehead against his shoulder. He could see the curve of her cheek flushed pink from the orgasm he'd given her, her lashes a small thick fan of gold against her skin.

He ached. Not just his cock, but his chest too, like someone was pressing down hard on it.

“I know there are many things you have to fight, Eli, but I'm not one of them.”

But he'd wanted to fight her, that was the problem. That's all he'd been doing for seven fucking years, and he'd had to because how else was he going to do what he had to do? Keep fighting and trust no one, those were the lessons that working for Fitzgerald had taught him. Those were the only lessons that mattered. And he couldn't stop now just because some lovely girl seemed to have the ability to reach right inside his chest and put her hand around his heart.

No, fuck that, it wasn't his heart she had her hands around.

She'd wanted to take care of him, make him feel good, but he couldn't let her in, not even a little bit. Because he had a feeling that once he did, he'd never want to let her go.

Would that be so very bad?

Elijah pushed the insidious thought away. He shouldn't even be thinking shit like this, not when he had Jericho to meet and a plan to work out. A plan for how to protect the lovely girl in question.

He looked down at her, all soft golden spikes of hair and creamy, satin skin. The sandalwood scent he associated with her had faded over the past couple of days, and now she smelled faintly of flowers and the musky scent of sex.

Christ, he wanted to eat her alive.

He took a step back in the direction of the couch, holding her in his arms, taking her with him as he sat down so she ended up in his lap. Her head turned, her cheek against his chest, and then she stilled.

His heart was beating fast, and he was so fucking hard. Her butt was pressed to his groin, the heat of her pussy soaking through the fabric of his shorts, and suddenly he wanted to be naked, to feel her against his bare skin.

He reached for that stubborn little chin of hers and tipped her head back so he could look down into her face. She didn't resist—which surprised him—staring back at him with a wary expression. She seemed more guarded now, as if she was hiding something, and he knew she didn't want him to see her disappointment. Too late.

He ran the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, enjoying the warm, giving softness of it. “I know what you want,” he said after a moment. “You want to make it all better.”

“Is that so bad?” She had crossed her arms, covering her breasts in a protective gesture that annoyed him, even if he understood it.

Resisting the urge to pull her arms away, he satisfied himself by continuing to stroke his thumb back and forth on her lip, keeping it gentle even though he felt anything but. “It's not bad, it's just not going to happen.”

Violet met his gaze silently, her jaw tight. Then she said, “I know why you need it, Eli. All that anger and pain … It's fuel, isn't it?”

He wanted to deny it. Wanted to deny that he even felt either of those emotions, but he couldn't. It would be a lie. They were there no matter how hard he'd tried to get rid of them, lingering like ghosts in his mind, in his heart. And she was right. He did need them. Because without them …

You'd be useless, soft Kane Archer. The man who let his wife die.

Fucking hell, this conversation needed to end. She seemed to be able to see below the surface of him in a way that nobody else could, and that was unacceptable. Yet another reason he had to keep her out any way he could.

“This isn't amateur psychology hour, princess.” He slowed the movement of his thumb, tracing up to include the delicate curves of her upper lip too. “And I'm not your fucking patient.”

Temper flashed across her face. “You think I don't know that?”

“Then stop trying to psychoanalyze me.” He dropped his hand from her mouth, holding her gaze. “I don't need it. I don't want it.”

Her jaw jutted mutinously, a green spark of anger glowing in the blue depths of her eyes. “I'm just trying—”

“I don't care what you're just trying to do.” He leaned forward to the box of condoms sitting on the coffee table in front of him and took one out, leaning back against the couch again. “You can't save me. Not if I don't want to be saved.”

She looked away, down to the condom in his hands. Then she grabbed it from him and tore open the packet, turning to face him, sitting up and straddling him with her knees on either side of his thighs. “Fine,” she said tightly. “I'll just fuck you instead.”

It was the response he wanted and yet it made him angry. Because he didn't like that she wouldn't look at him. Didn't like the disappointment in her voice that laced each word.

Didn't like that he cared.

But he didn't know what else to say. This was the way it had to be and he had nothing else to offer her.

The anger stirred inside him, thick and hot, threaded through with a frustration he didn't understand. Jesus Christ, what the hell did she expect? For him to get all emotional and pour out his heart to her like a goddamn teenage girl?

Okay, so maybe the grief and the pain and the anger hadn't entirely gone like he'd thought, but that didn't mean he had to share them with her or anyone else for that matter.

He grieved his wife. He was angry that she'd died. No, not angry, fucking
furious.

And yeah, that was fuel. Seven years was a long time to pursue revenge, but he'd always understood it was a long game. And he had to have something to keep the engine running hot.

Violet was reaching for his shorts, all business now. The expression on her face was shuttered, her jaw full of tension. There was no softness there anymore, none of that terrible understanding that had the ability to crack him apart. It was the way it should be.

Yet he hated it.

Fucking hell. You liar. You do want her to save you.

Elijah pushed her off him all of a sudden as if he could push away that thought too. Because it wasn't happening. It was too late for him, had been too late the moment Marie died. The day he'd finally realized the depth of his failure and what he'd have to do to make amends. Nothing could change that. Nothing could change what he'd had to do over the course of seven years either.

There was no saving him.

Violet's eyes were wide and wary. “What did I do now?”

He couldn't explain, not when he was barely able to even admit it to himself, so he ignored her. Standing, he pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it on the floor, doing the same to his shorts and boxers, until he was finally naked.

Then he turned back to her.

She was sitting on the couch, the condom clutched in her hand, staring at him. Flushed and golden and bare.

Christ, he'd had enough of this emotional shit. Enough of talking. Maybe once he'd been able to do that, share his feelings, let someone in, but that had been a long time ago, before Marie had died. Now the ability had been burned right out of him. And the sooner Violet learned that, the sooner she understood that he had nothing to give her, the better.

He reached out and grabbed the condom from her, rolling it quickly down his achingly hard cock. “Turn over.” He made the order hard and cold.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He could have told her that he wanted her on her stomach so he didn't have to look at her face or see the disappointment in her eyes, but he didn't. Instead he moved over to her and without a word, flipped her over so she was facedown. Instantly she put her hands on the couch cushions, levering herself up a little. “Eli, I—”

“Stay like that. Don't fucking move.”

Her mouth became a hard line, but she did what she was told, turning her head to watch him as he got onto the couch behind her. He knelt and put his hands on her hips, lifting them up and back. Her skin felt so good under his fingers, soft and satiny smooth.

He looked down, unable to help himself, following the elegant curve of her spine, the indent of her hips, the swell of her buttocks, the sweet vulnerability of her bare neck. And fury and hunger twined suddenly inside him, making his heart race, making him pant like a fucking dog.

Why did he always feel this way around her? Why could he never make sense of it?

Because you don't want to make sense of it. Just like you don't want to admit that you want her to save you.

The truth stared him in the face, inevitable. Irrevocable. It had been a long, long time since he'd had an emotional response to anything and he was out of practice. Self-analysis had never been his thing anyway, and besides, while he'd been with Fitzgerald, he simply couldn't let himself think too deeply about anything.

She mattered, he'd already decided that. But he'd thought that had been an intellectual decision, a clear, logical choice.

Yet something inside him wanted more than that. That darkness, that hunger, the yearning he couldn't ever admit that he felt, it wanted so much more. To consume her, devour her, make her his in every way possible. Hold her tight. Keep her safe. Never let her go.

It rose up inside him, inevitable as the pull of the tide, shattering the hard, cold shell he'd tried to surround himself with. He found himself gripping her hips as he positioned himself, holding on tight as if he was afraid she was going to get away, before pushing hard and deep inside her, the wet heat of her pussy clenching around his cock like a vise, a choked cry coming from her.

And he couldn't stop. He pulled out then flexed his hips, slamming back inside her. She made another soft, desperate sound, her body trembling, but even then he didn't pause, didn't take a breath. He did it again and again, watching her body move restlessly beneath him, her head turning to the side, her lush mouth open, panting like he was.