Sweetest Taboo (9 page)

He kept his head down and Jane tight against him as Howard ushered them the rest of the way into the building, and he kept her close as he guided them onto the elevator and then punched the number for their floor.

Only when the doors closed and the car was moving did he relax his hold on her. He turned to see her face, expecting her expression to be guarded, his own anger and frustration in her eyes.

But when she lifted her head, all he saw was need, and he had only an instant to process that reality before she flew into his arms so violently that he stumbled backward against the elevator's glass wall.

The intensity of her kiss burned through him like wildfire, and he pulled her tight against him, his mouth claiming hers, one hand cupping her rear as the fingers of his other hand wound tight in her hair so that he could have her where he wanted her. But what really got him hard was the knowledge that this was exactly where she wanted to be, too. In his arms, finishing what they'd started, erasing the whole goddamn world, if only for a little while.

“Please.” The pure passion of her voice rocked him, and when her hand cupped his crotch, he thought he would explode right then. But when she started to tug down the zipper of his jeans, he caught her wrist in his hand.

She tilted her head back to look at him, her lips swollen, her face flushed.

“Cameras,” he said, hating that they had to be so damned rational, because god knew he'd been sucked off in elevators before. But he couldn't risk security cam footage of him and Jane suddenly showing up on Gawker.

For a moment, he regretted his words, afraid that the reminder of the eyes that were constantly on them would push her back into herself. But then she smiled, slow and sexy, before pressing her body hard against his, her pelvis tight against his cock, as she whispered, “Then you damn well better strip me naked the second we're inside the apartment.”

He was fighting the urge to do exactly that despite the damn cameras when the elevator stopped and the doors slid open—and there was Bill Martin, standing right outside the door.

“Finally,” Jane said in that same moment, her back still to the door. “I need you to fu—”

He pressed a finger to her lips even as he plastered on a false smile. “Hello, Bill,” he said, and watched Jane's eyes go wide as she spun around to face her ex-husband. “You want to tell me what the hell you're doing here?”

Dallas eased his arm around Jane's waist and led her into the hall. “For that matter, how did you get in here?”

Bill opened his wallet and flashed his badge. “It's not as impressive as when I worked at the US Attorneys office, but it's official.”

“WORR's not the FBI,” Dallas said, referring to the World Organization for Rescue and Rehabilitation. “It doesn't have investigative power in the United States.” He kept his words tight. Focused. He couldn't show fear, only irritation. Bill had to be here because he wanted to investigate the Sykes kidnapping against the family's specific request that he back off. This wasn't about Deliverance. It wasn't about Colin.

At least he hoped to hell it wasn't.

Bill shrugged. “All I did was show your doorman the badge. He didn't ask questions, just let me up. Talk to him if you have a problem.”

“My problem is with you,” Dallas said. “Now get the fuck away from our front door.”

“I need to talk to you.” He turned to Jane. “To you both.”

“Not a good time, counselor. Now I'm going to ask you politely again, and then I'm going to get testy. You don't want to see me when I'm testy, so I suggest you get out of my way. She needs to sit down.”

“Where the hell have you been? It's the crack of dawn, Dallas. You two decide to just pop out to watch the sunrise? Grab a really fresh bagel?”

“Bill, please.” Jane's voice was so thin that Dallas could barely hear it. Bill did, though. That much was obvious by the way his combative expression faded to sympathy.

“Oh, shit. Jane, I'm sorry.” He stepped aside, and Dallas inserted his key in the lock, then held the door open for Jane. “Wait,” Bill called. “Please. I talked to Lisa. She told me about the attack. That's the only reason I showed the badge. I just needed—I just needed to know she was okay.
You
were okay,” he added when Jane turned to look at him.

“I—” she began, but Dallas cut her off.

“Go inside, baby. Let me talk to Bill for a second.” When she hesitated, he cupped the back of her head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Sweetheart, please. I'll be right behind you.”

He hated seeing the fear that flooded her eyes, and Dallas wished that he could reassure her. But they both knew the stakes. Knew who Bill was and what he might figure out. Right then, though, Dallas had to gamble that Bill was still clueless about Deliverance.

For a moment, he thought she was going to argue, but she acquiesced, and with one final glance toward Bill, she went inside.

Bill took a step, as if he intended to follow, and Dallas neatly parried. “Not happening.”

“Dallas, I just—”

“What? Want to see her? You saw her. Christ, Bill, she was attacked and beaten and dumped at the curb like garbage. She's hanging on by a thread.” She was doing a hell of a lot better than that, but Jane's emotional state was no longer Bill's business.

Bill's eyes dipped down to Dallas's crotch. “Is that what she was hanging on to?”

“Do not go there,” Dallas said. “You think this is a joke? All for the publicity? This is our life, hers and mine, and you have fucked with it royally.”

“Now, wait a minute. I—”

“
No
. You wait a minute. What the hell were you doing, telling her that the FBI and WORR were looking to arrest Colin for my kidnapping? And then telling her that he's disappeared? Did you think that would be easy on her? Did you think that she could just deal with it, because what's one more thing piled on top of all the rest?”

He was playing a dangerous game, and he knew it. As far as bad ideas went, pissing off the man who was trying both to prosecute your kidnapping without your consent and track you down because, unbeknownst to him, you happened to have abducted his prime suspect…well, that was just wrong in about a dozen different ways. But somehow, Dallas couldn't make himself shut up. His emotions were so damn pent up after days of holding them in, that now that the surface had cracked, everything was spewing out. Even things against his better judgment.

“You know what, Sykes,” Bill countered, real irritation flashing across his face as he stepped closer to Dallas. “I'll own that—sure. I made it harder on her. I guess I thought she needed to know the truth about what was going on. But you still haven't answered my question. If she's so fragile, where the hell have you two been? You just decide to go for an early morning stroll?”

Fuck
.

“Where we go and what we do isn't any business of yours anymore, Bill,” Dallas said, as calmly as he could manage.

“I guess not,” Bill said coldly. “I'm just her ex-husband. You're her brother. It's not like I could legally marry her. Sleep with her without risking a felony charge. Oh, wait,” he said, cocking his head like he'd just remembered something. “I
could
do all that. You're the one who can't ever really have her.”

Ice shot through Dallas's veins, and the only reason—the
only
reason—Bill wasn't facedown, unconscious on the floor that very second was that Jane was mere feet away behind that door, and she'd dealt with enough already.

From his sharp intake of breath and the quick step backward, it was clear that Bill knew he was lucky to be standing.

“I think you need to leave now, Bill.”

“Shit, Dallas,” Bill said, his entire body seeming to deflate. “I just want a few minutes.”

“Bill,” Dallas repeated, “it's time for you to leave.”

As soon as I'm inside the apartment, I close the door behind me and force myself not to shake. Bill shouldn't scare me—he shouldn't. I know the man. Once upon a time, I even loved him, or at least I thought I did.

But now not only is he hurt, he's certain he's got the moral high ground on his side. And I'm afraid that Dallas is so intent on taunting the man who used to sleep with me that he's going to make some verbal misstep and somehow reveal to Bill his role in all of this.

What will Bill do when he finds out that Dallas is behind Deliverance? That Dallas and his team are interrogating Colin in an East Harlem cell?

I cringe, realizing that my concern isn't
if
Bill will make that discovery, but
when
.

Oh, god, I hate this. I truly hate it.

And right now, I want to move, but to where? I want to act, but how? It's all well and good for Dallas and me to say that we will carve out a life together in the world, but we still have to attack that fundamental question of how exactly that's going to happen.

Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure that taunting Bill isn't getting us closer to that goal.

Frustrated, I move away from the door, my entire body feeling like lead pushing through pudding. I'm exhausted, both mentally and physically. Apparently being unconscious for more than twenty-four hours doesn't count as quality sleep. Couple that with the fact that I've been up all night, and I guess my bone-deep weariness makes sense.

I don't want to sleep, though. I want Dallas, and I'm heading for the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee when my phone rings. Liam gave it back to me as Dallas and I left Deliverance, and the sound, so unfamiliar after a few days without it, makes me jump.

I fumble inside the small purse I've been carrying with me, then frown when I see the caller is Joel, who is producing the adaptation of my book,
The Price of Ransom,
for film. I consider ignoring it, but then take the plunge and answer. At the moment, dealing with Hollywood is probably a hell of a lot easier than dealing with reality.

“Joel?”

“Janie, sweetheart, where the fuck have you been? I've left messages? I've sent emails? What? You fall off the planet or something?”

“Or something,” I admit as I set the phone on speaker and put a cup under the Keurig. I glance again at the time. “Why are you calling so early?” It's three hours earlier in LA, and I know from experience that Joel rarely rolls into the office before ten.

“What? I can't touch base with my favorite writer?” He chuckles, as if that is the cleverest thing ever said. Then he clears his throat. “Seriously, Janie, the new pages are brilliant, absolutely brilliant. I only have a few notes.”

“Great.” I don't actually mean that. I've learned that in Hollywood, everything is said in code and double-talk, and a “few notes” probably means a massive rewrite.

“And Lyle may have a few issues, too.”

I'd been reaching for my freshly brewed coffee, but now I pull my hand back as slowly as if a snake were coiled in front of me. “Issues?” I repeat, remembering what one of the reporters had shouted about Lyle turning down the lead. Which, considering Lyle is rising fast in Hollywood and is already one of the most bankable stars, would be disastrous.

“I thought he loved the book,” I continue. “And the script. Your last email said that he was completely in love with everything I've turned in.”

“Baby, baby, baby. He does love it.”

“Then what are we talking about?”

“You just let me handle this. Lyle's a sweetheart. He adores you.”

“But?”

“But you need to leave this to me.”

“You're not making me feel better.” I drag my fingers through my hair. “Should I call him? We've talked. I thought we clicked. Maybe it could help?”

“I'm on it, Janie. I'll figure a way to turn this shit around. We'll use it, if we have to.”

“Use it? Use what?”

“I won't let this deal go south. Don't you worry your pretty little head.”

I ignore his condescension. “Joel, are you saying—” I draw in a breath. “This is about me, isn't it? He's pulling out because of me and Dallas.” Never in a million years would I have dreamed that the gossip about me and Dallas hitting the press would mess up my movie deal.

“I'm not saying a damn thing, sweetheart. And you're not worrying. You write notorious books. You've got a notorious reputation. Baby, we are all over that shit.”

Notorious
.

We ended the call but when Dallas walks in a minute later, I'm still mulling over that word—and the situation.

Can it be true? Could the media bullshit surrounding Dallas and me really destroy my most lucrative and high-profile deal?

And how the hell had I not even considered that this might happen?

“Jane? What's wrong?”

I actually laugh, because how am I supposed to pick the best answer to that question? Bill, work, Colin. Honestly, the list is pretty much endless.

I settle on just shaking my head. “Joel called. Just bullshit with the screenplay.”

Dallas studies me, but says nothing. Instead, he takes my hands and pulls me close. I sigh deeply and snuggle against him, wanting to just get lost here in his arms. “Baby, you're dead on your feet.”

I tilt my head back and offer a weak smile. “I am,” I admit, then rise up on to my tiptoes to brush a kiss over his lips. Because though I'm tired, sleep isn't what I want or need. “Please, Dallas. Bring me back to life.”

“I can do that,” he says, then releases me as he takes a step backward. “Take off your clothes.”

The shift from gentle to commanding surprises me, but also excites me, and the no-nonsense authority in his voice makes my pulse pick up tempo.

“Jane.” His voice is stern. “Now.”

I feel the impact of his words between my thighs. A wild heat builds inside me, and I'm eager to simply surrender and let Dallas take charge. I'm wearing jeans and a silk tank top under a Prada blazer. I take the jacket off first, and toss it carelessly aside. My arms are bare now, and the air against my skin is almost as erotic as the way Dallas is now looking at me.

“Jeans next,” he says, and I comply, slowly unbuttoning the fly and then wriggling my hips to slide off the denim. I'm wearing a thong, and I take it down with the jeans. Since I kicked off my flats as I entered the apartment, my feet are bare, and I step out of my clothes and take a step toward Dallas.

I'm half-naked now, wearing only my tank and satin bra. I lick my lips as I take one more step in his direction.

“Stop,” he demands. “Now spread your legs and close your eyes.”

I do as he says, feeling vulnerable, exposed, and wildly turned on.

For a moment, there is silence. I hear only my own breath and the faint hum of the air conditioner. I imagine him watching me. My nipples erect under the thin tank. My pussy wet and throbbing for him. I'm already desperate for him, and he hasn't even touched me.

I wait as long as I can stand, and when he still says nothing—when the urge to slide my fingers between my legs and satisfy this building ache becomes overwhelming—I whisper, “Dallas?”

“Shhh,” he says, his voice coming from behind me. I feel him take the hem of my tank, and I lift my arms as he pulls it over my head, then tosses it aside.

“Dallas…”

“No talking,” he says as he frees me from my bra. “No moving. No anything. Not unless I tell you to do it.”

“Okay,” I murmur, then jump when his palm lands hard on my ass, the sweet sting so surprising and arousing that tremors of electricity shoot through my body to gather at my core, a precursor to a full-on orgasm that will surely bring me to my knees.

“Did I ask you to answer?”

I almost respond aloud just so that he'll spank me again, but instead I shake my head.

“Good girl,” he says, his voice coming from in front of me. “Now spread your legs. That's it,” he says when I comply, and I hear his soft, slow intake of breath before he says roughly, “Christ, that's hot. Your nipples hard. Your areolae dark, just waiting to be sucked. And your pussy—baby, I like that you wax for me. Do you want me to touch you? Do you want me to slide my hand over your cunt and feel how wet and slick you are?”

“Yes.” I can barely get the word out, I'm so turned on.

“But I am touching you,” he says, and now his voice is soft. He's moved silently toward me and is whispering into my ear, the soft caress of his breath like a kiss. “My hands are cupping your breasts and my thumbs are teasing over your nipples. They're so hard, and I flick them lightly with my fingernails.”

I startle as he says that, and I swear I actually feel his touch. I open my mouth to cry out his name, but then remember the rules and press my lips together.

He chuckles. “So obedient,” he says, and as he speaks, he strokes a soft finger from my core to my clit, and I tremble, my pussy clenching in a futile effort to draw him in, to have him fill me.

“Your reward for being so good,” he says. “Do you want me to touch you there more?”

“Yes,” I beg shamelessly. “Please, Dallas. Please.”

“I am. Don't you feel me? The way my fingers play with your clit? The way I'm standing right in front of you, the cotton of my shirt brushing your sensitive nipples as my hand cups your mound. I'm sliding my palm over you, baby, and you're so wet, and it feels so good, and you're holding on to my shoulders because your knees are so weak you can't stand up on your own.”

I say nothing; I can't remember if he's asked me a question.

“Answer me, Jane.”

“I feel you,” I say, and I do. I can imagine his touch, the light strokes, the heated tease. The way he plays me so perfectly because he knows me so well.

“I'm on my knees now, baby, and my hands are on your hips. Tilt forward for me,” he demands, then says, “That's it,” when I comply.

“Can you feel my tongue?” he continues. “How I'm stroking you, teasing you? And oh, baby, you taste so good.”

It's incredible, but I can feel it. Not only that, but my body is reacting to it. That telltale tightening in my thighs. The way my skin prickles, as if I've gone outside in a lightning storm. That's Dallas, a storm upon my senses. And I can't help but think that any man who can take me this close to orgasm without even touching me definitely deserves his reputation as the King of Fuck.

“I want you to come for me, Jane,” he says, and though I want to—though I'm so wildly, wonderfully turned on—I'm not sure I can cross that line.

“Now,” he orders, and as soon as the word is out of his mouth, I feel the soft brush of his breath between my legs, teasing my clit, mimicking his touch. I imagine that he's leaning in, ready to put his tongue on me, to close his mouth over me.

I imagine that…and I explode.

As I do, my legs really do go weak, and the world seems to spin out from under me. I keep my eyes closed because he hasn't told me to open them, but I can feel the world falling away from me.

And then I'm caught, captured in a bridal-style carry in his arms, and his lips are on mine, and he's murmuring to me. Telling me I'm exceptional, I'm beautiful, I'm the most amazing woman he has ever known.

“And you're mine,” he says. “How fucking incredible is that?”

His words make me smile, and I snuggle against him. I'm completely sated, and I feel thoroughly fucked, and it's weird, but at the same time it's not because this is Dallas, and he has always had a magical effect on me.

He takes me to the couch and I curl up against him as he pulls a blanket over us. “What about you?” I murmur, barely able to keep my eyes open.

“Believe me, baby, I'm just as satisfied as you are.” He brushes my hair off my face and kisses my forehead, and I close my eyes again as he uses the remote on the coffee table to turn on the stereo. It's a classical station and so soothing, and I close my eyes and simply drift, happy to have released the burdens of the day, even if for just a little while.