She’d never felt like this. She was giving up so much, giving up everything.
She wanted to come—needed to—but letting herself would be admitting she was ready to give up control. So she fought it with everything she had, but it was going to happen. She would come for him, his name on her lips, just as he’d said she would. And it wasn’t because he was rough or controlling. In fact, it was somehow the opposite, even though she was the one who lay beneath him. He’d given her the control, and she’d taken it, found her comfort . . . and she climaxed with the blaze of a thousand suns behind her eyes.
When he kissed his way back up her body, she tugged at him. “More,” she murmured.
“Plenty more,” he agreed. She watched him roll on a condom, could barely wait for him to enter her.
“Please,” she begged as he attempted to go slowly. She pushed against him instead, taking in his hard length so it filled her. “Yes, that’s it.”
“Jesus, Grace,” he muttered, and she smiled, laughed. She was going to take him over the edge—but she was going to go with him. It was so right, and she’d waited so long for this.
She’d never thought she’d find it. Now she wrapped her legs around him, hooking her feet on his back as he sank against her.
Grace was stretched tight around him, wet and hot, and her moans, Christ, her moans were going to undo him completely. He was trying to go slow, but she didn’t want that. And still, it wasn’t like before—wasn’t rough like she’d tried to make it the first night they’d met. This time, she wasn’t putting on a front. She was enjoying this.
And he was damned well going to make sure she continued to. He thrust against her as she clung to him. She nipped his shoulders with her teeth, dug her nails into his back, and he kissed her then, like he was a dying man and she was the only one who could give him what he needed.
She kissed him back, unabashedly. Her walls down, the fight over. She groaned into his mouth, and then he pulled away and took her fast, until she contracted around him, crying out with h
er climax.
He came with her; she felt his cock throb inside her, heard his mutterings, the low, growling groan of a man possessed with desire who’d finally succumbed.
Two peas in a pod, they were.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I want to do that again. And again.”
He laughed, a real and true belly laugh that got her going as well. And when she joined him, she realized that he was still hard inside of her and that he wanted the same thing.
A couple of hours later, they lay together, legs entwined, Dare tracing lazy circles on her skin as the breeze fluttered over them. There was the heavy feeling of rain in the air as they remained unhurried.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Very.” She turned her gaze to him. “You don’t know . . . I didn’t want to. You made me feel. Normally, I can turn it off. I just wanted to turn you on. Make you lose control,” she admitted.
“Sweetheart, you got your wish. How’s it make you feel?”
“Like hell,” she said with a smile.
“Makes two of us.”
Still, she moved to smooth away the hair from his face, and he let her.
“I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”
“Technically, it’s a kidnapping.”
“I think we’re beyond that, no?” He was staring at his hands. She took them into her smooth, cool palms and rubbed the ache away until he nearly groaned. “Thanks. That’s nice.”
His hands were big. Big hands, big feet . . . no disappointment. And she’d lied about him being rough, at least not in the sense she was used to.
Dare was anything but detached from his emotions. He wasn’t only into the physical act. No, there was so much more to it than that. She’d wanted him to be an animal, nothing but primal male urges, because that’s what she knew how to deal with. It was what she’d been able to conquer. But emotion, that was an entirely different mountain, and she appeared to be afraid of its height.
“Are we . . . beyond the kidnapping? Because I thought maybe you only said it to appease me when I was sick.”
“I never say things just to appease people. More often than not, I say things to piss them off. I don’t want to use you, Grace.”
“Not anymore.”
“Right, not anymore,” he said. “I don’t know how else to make you believe me.”
She stared at him. Touched his cheek with her palm. “I don’t want to believe you. Goddammit, Dare, I don’t want to, but I do. I always have.”
Chapter Twent
y-two
G
unner took h
er back in the Kodiak and then on his Harley, which he’d locked in a shed onshore. Avery guessed he owned it; it all looked steel reinforced.
He hadn’t said much of anything, to her or to Dare, since they’d come back from Grace’s house. Had checked on Grace, then spent time out on the front porch by himself.
She tried again now, before they got on the bike. “I really can take care of myself, you know.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” was all he told her before handing her the helmet. Of course, he didn’t bother with one, but arguing would be futile. She put it on, hopped on behind him and enjoyed the cool bayou night as the bike raced along the back paths until they hit the city.
Different worlds. She wasn’t sure which one she liked better, but to her, they were both still pretty magical.
Now, back in the shop, he locked the doors behind them.
“Time for your tattoo,” he said.
“Right
now?”
“Right now.”
She couldn’t argue. Instead, as he began to draw up a design, she sat on his chair and watched. He drew in quick bursts with a black pencil—then he threaded the sketch through a copy machine and onto thin paper that would transfer the projected design to her body.
“Shirt off,” he told her without looking at her. But she was pretty sure he glanced her way as she stripped and held the shirt up to cover her breasts. “Lie down on your side, arm over your head.”
He helped her move the T-shirt so she remained covered as he transferred the design onto her. Then he held the mirror up so she could see what he planned. Helped her up so she could see it in the big mirror.
“They’ll be pink and white with some black and gray shading,” was all he said as she fingered the design, a string of flowers that would look as if they floated down her side.
It would look beautiful. Perfect. How had he known?
She didn’t bother asking, merely nodded her assent, and Gunner patted the table again.
She wondered why he hadn’t simply asked to sleep with her instead and realized that what they were about to do might be considered far more intimate.
“When you’re done, we have to get in touch with Jem and Key,” she said before he started.
“I don’t think we’re going to have a problem with that,” Gunner said over the buzz of the needle. Without turning her head, she felt the blast of hot air above her, heard the jingle of the bells as the door opened.
“Nice vacation?” Jem asked.
“Was going to call you,” Gunner said.
Avery remained in position as Key stared between her and Gunner. “I’m getting a tattoo,” she said, in case it wasn’t obvious.
“You gonna let him mark you like that?” Key asked.
“It’s not like I’m grass in a dog park. Besides, it was our agreement. I don’t go back when I give my word.”
“Good to know. I guess you’re sleeping with him?” His words were dangerously quiet.
She wondered why—if—he cared. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”
He snorted. “I don’t like stepping in the middle of love triangles.”
She wanted to say that it wasn’t love, but it was some kind of crazy triangle. You’d have to be blind not to see it, and even then, the energy was palpable.
Gunner was somewhere around six foot five. Key was taller, Jem slightly shorter, but all three together were especially impressive. Imposing. Dangerously sexy.
But she wasn’t in the market for relationships.
“Do you have any information?” Jem was asking.
“As soon as I’m done with Avery’s tattoo, we’re supposed to take you to see Dare,” Gunner said.
Key’s face hardened at the mention of her brother’s name, and she couldn’t wait to get to the bottom of what had happened between them. The fact that Key had been preparing to use her against Dare was proof enough that it was something very bad.
“I’m starting now, which means no more talking,” Gunner said.
“Let’s go get a dri
nk, Key,” Jem said.
“I’m not leaving them alone—they could take off again,” Key said. At least he’d stopped looking at her as though she were the money in a bank robbery.
Jem muttered something about drinking Gunner’s whiskey as Key moved closer to the table and Gunner turned on the tattoo gun.
The buzz of the needle, the humid air on her skin . . . and she’d never had anything like the attraction she had for both men.
Key and Gunner were having a pissing contest, and she honestly didn’t think it had much to do with her. But maybe it did.
She felt languid. Light-headed. It had nothing to do with the tattoo process.
Half-naked, the needle buzzing and every sense heightened. An intimate act shared with the two men surrounding her, Key stubbornly refusing to leave and Gunner not stopping his process.
It was heady, she had to admit. Power over men wasn’t something she was into, but this came naturally, seemed as old as time itself, as intricate, and yet, so simple.
She was a wanted woman, but here, between Key and Gunner, she was simply a woman who was wanted, and that was something different altogether.
She wasn’t sure how long she lay there. Gunner gave her a short break to drink a soda and eat a candy bar, assuring her she’d need both. There wasn’t pain any longer—it had transcended pain and become something else. A feeling of light peace, even with Key glaring Gunner down.
She didn’t bother talking during the process, and finally, Gunner rubbed a gloss of antibacterial gel onto his black-gloved hand and then rubbed it lightly on her newly tattooed side. “You’re all done.”
He helped her up, and she watched Key watch her in the mirror as she lifted her arm to reveal the beautiful slide of pink and white flowers that floated down her rib cage in a grand, graceful swirl that mirrored her curves perfectly.
“Gunner, I love it,” she breathed.
“I know,” he said, and Key snorted.
“Full of yourself much?”
“I’m damned good at what I do. Can you say the same thing?” Gunner asked, and before she knew what was happening, the two men were circling each other and yelling in what she assumed was Cajun French. She fully expected a punch to be thrown at any minute as they moved closer to each other, both gesturing wildly.
She couldn’t understand a thing they were saying.
“Jem!” she called, but he came in from the kitchen, bottle in hand, unconcerned.
“They’re big boys—they’re fine,” he said. “Let’s see the tattoo.”
She followed Jem’s lead and ignored Gunner and Key as she and Jem gazed at her new skin art.
“Guy’s good,” Jem said grudgingly, and she agreed.
Life was so ugly most of the time. Something pretty etched onto her skin might help to balance that.
Chapter Twenty-th
ree
G
race woke to Dar
e thrashing around in the bed.
He was so vulnerable, but he was still a warrior as he fought, completely caught up in the throes of his nightmare. She desperately wanted to help him. To heal him.
A part of her wanted to hate him for what he was doing to her, but she simply couldn’t. He wasn’t black or white, had so many gray spaces in him; she’d known that before she laid her hands on him.
She hadn’t been born with a healing touch, but her gift allowed her to be open enough to learn Reiki. She used it now in an attempt to pull away the bad thoughts plaguing him.
But the bad was very, very strong. She closed her eyes and put her palms against his bare skin, breaking her rule of not touching anything that could harm her emotionally.
Mistake. In seconds, he was awake and uncoiled and on top of her, his body pinning hers to the mattress, his hands holding her wrists trapped over her head, and if she lived to be one hundred she’d never figure out how exactly he’d managed that in such a short span of time.
She’d been holding her breath, exhaled now in a soft, surprised gasp, realizing she was lucky that his hand hadn’t ended up around her throat.
Surprising a man of his caliber was a very bad idea.
It took several moments before he actually focused on her, and when that realization hit, he still didn’t roll off her—not immediately. And that attraction that had been there from the first jolted through her. His arousal was rock hard against her belly and her sex was wet for him.
If he’d rolled away first, she wasn’t sure what she would’ve done, but he made the decision for both of them when he lowered his mouth to hers.
It was a hard, desperate kiss that left her wanting more immediately. It was as if they were in a fog, suspended between wake and sleep, confusion and clarity, where anything could happen. When they were at their most vulnerable.
She arched her back, pressed her hips up into him, and he responded in kind, grinding his pelvis into hers in a way that suggested nothing less than down-and-dirty sex that would leave them both breathless.
“Grace,” he murmured as he kissed his way down her neck. Was he still dreaming? Did it matter?
How had she ended up a part of his dreams?
His hand released her wrists, and he thrust against her, his cock hard against her sex. She groaned and bucked up against him, and the sound seemed to rouse him.
He stopped, stared down at her. Looked confused, and then, “Ah, fuck. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No. I should’ve known better than to touch you like that.”
“Because you have nightmares too. Guess we’re both all fucked-up,” he muttered.
“Guess so.” She smoothed the hair away from his forehead. “Do your dreams have to do with the scars on your hands?”
“Yeah.” He glanced down at his hands, which were on either side of her. “I don’t even remember it hurting when it happened.”
“When you’re in it, when it’s actually happening, pain is the least of your worries.”
He nodded his agreement. “Key saved my life. For a long time, I wished he’d left me to die, for both our sakes.” He faltered for a long second, and then he told her what had happened. She was sure that for her sake he brushed over how horrific it actually was, but she knew. His eyes looked haunted.
She was also furious at Rip. At herself, for not finding a way to take him down, even if it meant hurting herself in the process. “I’m sorry, Dare.”
“I’m still here. I’m not built to break.”
She felt the flicker of a smile ghost across her face. “I think I’m not either.”
“I know you’re not.”
* * *
Dare knew that li
ghting the fire at Grace’s would come back to bite him in the ass during sleep, bring back memories of the jungle and a very different fire. He’d thought that just this once he might sleep a little longer, especially with Grace snuggled against him, but from the worried look on her face, he knew his nightmare had been full-fledged.
Part of him wanted to push her away, retreat. But he needed her. She was half on him, running her fingers through his hair, smoothing the sweat from his face and neck with a washcloth, like he’d done for her earlier.
His cock was as rigid as his posture. She ran a hand down his belly and wrapped a palm around the thick column, and he stilled his breathing.
“I haven’t been touched in a long time,” he said quietly.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes. Too fucking much, Grace. I don’t want to goddamned care.”
You can have this job, or you can have relationships,
Dare’s father had once told him.
To be successful at either, choose one and never look back.
Still, Dare knew that leaving his mother had cost his father dearly. There was always a price with these jobs, and most of the time, it left a deep scar right down the middle of your life like a road map to hell.
Dare was headed down that same damned path, and it was already littered with mistakes and regrets.
“Will you tell me what happened?” she asked now.
“I lost everyone on my team. Those guys served as my family for ten-plus years.” The grief in his eyes was as unmistakable as his expression was unreadable. “One minute we were in charge of the situation, and the next, everything exploded. Literally. They never found the bodies.”
He choked those last words out. His lungs had tightened like he was breathing the thick smoke that got caught in the jungle air, unable to escape. Just like him.
Grace’s hands were cool on his shoulders. They rubbed, kneaded the tension, worked his neck muscles; then she was kissing where her hands had touched.
Both had a background of pain—that alone was enough to bond them—but there was more there, and Dare would be a fool not to admit it. And he was no fool.