You Are Mine (40 page)

Then she opened her mouth and swallowed him whole.

Heat engulfed him, a sharp growl escaping from his throat. The pleasure was indescribable, becoming even more acute when she ran her hands up the backs of his thighs, holding on to him as she increased the suction.

Her inexperience was obvious but somehow that only made it even better. Hotter. More erotic. Her nails dug into the backs of his thighs, and he found he was cupping her face in his hands, watching her suck him, her pale lips wrapped around his cock.

It was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen in his life.

There were some commands he should be saying, words to control what she was doing to him but he couldn't remember what they were. She'd somehow taken the power away from him and he realized, with a shock, that this was a scene in which he didn't have control. She did.

He'd had plenty of subs who tried to direct a scene with a bit of subtle Dom manipulation. Topping from the bottom. He'd always been wise to their tricks.

But this was Eva and she had no tricks. No manipulations.

All she had was honesty and determination, and the power to crack him apart like an egg. Power he'd given her from the moment he'd met her.

Why hadn't he seen that? Why hadn't he realized? He'd never wanted anyone to have the power over his emotions that Theresa had. The power to destroy him like Theresa had.

He should be shoving her away, walking out that door, and yet pleasure began to overwhelm him in a way he hadn't experienced in years, not since he'd first walked into a BDSM club and an experienced sub had taken one look at him and handed him a whip.

Eva's hands cupped his butt, digging her fingers into the tight muscles, her head moving as she sucked hard on him.

His knees were weak and he had to lean back against the vanity to stop himself from dropping to the floor. “Angel,” he said raggedly. “Oh, fuck … angel…”

She will break you.

No. She'd broken him already. All she was doing now was picking up the pieces.

He tipped his head back as pleasure gripped tight, drowning even his anger, leaving him with nothing but this feeling. Eva's mouth around him and her hands on him. Holding him up.

He groaned as the climax threatened. “Stop. Christ … Eva … stop.” But she didn't, so he pushed his fingers into her hair and pulled her away. She made a soft sound of protest, which he ignored as he bent to scoop her up from the floor. Turning, he lifted her up onto the vanity again, pushing her back against the white marble, easing her thighs apart.

He wanted to be inside her so badly. And he'd thought he could hold her back, keep her at a distance. But she wouldn't be distanced.

As he pulled a condom from the vanity drawer and protected himself with it, she leaned forward, winding one arm around his neck, reaching for his cock with the other. Then she gripped him and lifted her hips, sheathing him in slick silk and hot velvet.

He stilled, all the breath taken from him, as the astonishing heat of her pussy clenched tightly around him. Her legs circled his hips, her naked body pressing up against him, the softness of her breasts against his chest, her mouth finding the hollow of his throat.

He felt the lick of her tongue on his skin, then the sharp bite of her teeth.

Warrior. Angel. Seductress.

“Eva,” he whispered, his hands full of her hair, pulling her back so he could take back the control.

She didn't let him.

Her mouth found his, her wicked little tongue flicking inside, exploring hesitantly at first then with more confidence. Seducing him with her sweetness and inexperience, her hunger. She moved against him, her hips undulating, the feel of her body around his aching cock so exquisite, he knew it wouldn't take long for him to come.

A voice in his head was shouting at him to take back the control, dominate her, distance her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He'd never had gentleness. He'd never had sweetness. He'd never had a woman run her hands up the back of his neck, cradling his head in her small palms, her fingers twining his hair as she kissed him to ecstasy.

And he let her because he couldn't help himself. Because that hunger inside him, the dragon, was desperate for tenderness, for connection.

Because Eva King had always had the power to break him. He'd given it to her long ago.

The orgasm, when it came, almost crushed him. He called her name as it pulled him under, turned him over and over, and nearly drowned him. Then it receded, leaving him gasping, leaning forward against the vanity and shaking, the warmth of her body wrapped around him.

He felt her head rest against his shoulder, her breath soft against his skin. And for a long, long time, they remained like that, neither of them ready to move or break the silence.

After a while, he touched her hair, sifting the silky strands through his fingers. “You didn't stop when I told you.” His voice sounded rough, not like his at all.

“Yeah, I know.” Her hand drifted down his back, stroking. “Perhaps you'll have to punish me. You still have one left, remember?”

It was odd but right now, he seemed to have lost his taste for punishment. “I don't want to punish you anymore tonight.”

She let out a breath, the warmth of it chasing over her skin. “I'm good with that.”

He let his fingers tighten in her hair. “But I don't want to talk either.”

“Then we won't. But don't … go off and shut the door on me again.”

Zac raised his head and looked down.

Brilliant silver eyes met his.

“We have the rest of the night.” He touched her mouth, traced her lower lip with one finger, feeling the softness of it. “So get back into bed. I have a favor to return.”

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Honor watched her mother flutter around her husband's wheelchair, adjusting the blanket covering him and making sure he was comfortable. The orderlies had come to transport him to another hospital, a private one where he could convalesce from the gunshot wound that had nearly taken his life a month earlier.

His speech was slurred and he had difficulty walking, so he needed care that her mother couldn't provide. He also had difficulties with his memory, and that didn't make things any easier. But he was alive and that was all that mattered.

As the orderlies wheeled Guy from the room, Honor began to gather up the last of his belongings. There were only a few, a couple of books her mother had brought in hoping he'd be able to read (he hadn't), some spare items of clothing, a toothbrush in the adjacent bathroom.

She'd almost finished packing them all away in the bag she'd brought, when she spotted Guy's overcoat hanging from a coat stand near the windows. The nursing staff must have hung it up when he'd been brought in, and clearly Elizabeth had forgotten to pack it up with his other clothes.

Honor crossed the room and lifted his coat off the hook, taking a reflexive look out the window as she did so. There was a view of the street below and she could see Guy being loaded into the ambulance that was going to take him to the new hospital, her mother following him in.

A discreet distance away were the two bodyguards Zac had hired after Guy had gotten shot. In case whoever it was who'd shot him decided to come and finish the job.

The two guards moved toward a car, ready to follow the ambulance.

As the car pulled out into the traffic, Honor's attention was caught by another movement. The tall, arresting figure of a man. Initially she thought it was Zac since he was about the same height and build, wore an overcoat against the March chill, late winter snowflakes settling in his black hair.

But no, it wasn't Zac. This man had rough, blunt features and scars twisting his mouth.

He was standing on the sidewalk staring after the retreating ambulance, his hands thrust into the pockets of his overcoat. Menace radiated from him though she couldn't have said exactly why.

Abruptly he looked up, and eyes as black as ink met hers.

A chill entered her blood.

Instinct had her backing sharply away from the window, her heart beating fast, only to come to a complete stop in the middle of the room.

God, what the hell was wrong with her? The man was a complete stranger, so why was she getting all wound up?

Irritated, she eased closer to the window again, checking to see if he was still there.

The sidewalk was empty.

Oddly shaken and annoyed with herself, Honor threw the overcoat over her arm, turning on her heel to leave the room.

A piece of paper fluttered to the ground.

Frowning, she bent to pick it up, unfolding it to see what it was.

Her heart froze solid in her chest.

Slowly, she took a couple of steps back to the empty hospital bed and sat down on it, reading over the piece of paper once more to make sure she hadn't misinterpreted what she'd seen.

She hadn't.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Folding it up, she stowed it carefully away inside her purse. Then she grabbed her phone.

“Hey, baby.” Gabriel's deep, rough voice eased the cold feeling in her heart. “What's up?”

“Are you at home?”

“Yeah.” There was a pause. Then, sharper, “Are you okay?”

She wasn't. Not really. But it wasn't anything she could tell him over the phone. “I need to show you something.”

*   *   *

As soon as Gabriel saw Honor's face, he knew that whatever she was going to show him was going to be bad.

She tossed a man's overcoat over the back of his big leather sofa as she came into the lounge area, but held onto her purse. The weak, cold light of the afternoon shone through the massive windows of his apartment, making her pale face look even paler, her blue eyes darker.

“Tell me,” he said brusquely.

“Actually, I think it's better if I show you.” She opened up her purse, took the small folded piece of paper out, and crossed the room to where he stood by the windows, her heels tapping on the polished wood floorboards.

He'd remember that sound afterwards. And the darkness of her eyes.

Foreboding clenched tight inside him as he moved, meeting her in the middle of the room, taking her face in his hands and tilting her head back. “Are you all right?” he demanded, suddenly cold with fear. “Is there anything—”

“It's not me, Gabe,” she interrupted. “I'm fine, okay? I promise.”

The fist in his chest loosened and he bent his head, claiming her mouth in a hungry kiss, his hands sliding over her hips and down over the curve of her butt, pulling her hard against him, suddenly needing the taste of her and the reassurance of her warm body.

She returned the kiss for a long moment, just as hungry as he was. Then she pulled away, shoving the piece of paper at him again. “You need to read this.”

“I'd rather fuck you on the couch.”

“Gabriel. It's important.”

“So is my cock.”

But she only looked at him. Of course he was stalling and they both knew it.

Reluctantly, he reached for the paper, unfolding it and looking down.

It took him a moment to figure out exactly what he was looking at. “This … is a paternity test.”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded strained. “It fell out of Dad's overcoat when I was at the hospital packing up his things.”

There were two sets of results from the looks of it. The one for Guy Tremain was negative, but the other … was not.

The fist in his chest was back, locking tight fingers around his heart.

Somehow Tremain had gotten hold of Gabriel's DNA, matching it against his own. And someone else's.

A warm hand rested on his back, a slender figure at his side.

The world settled back into familiar lines.

Once, this piece of paper would have changed his life. Would have made him so angry he'd have committed all manner of violence in the name of revenge. In the name of filling up the void inside of him.

But that void was now filled. He wasn't empty anymore. He had Honor.

Knowing Evelyn Fitzgerald was his father changed nothing.

He glanced up and found the blue eyes of the woman he loved looking anxiously at him. “Gabe?” she asked uncertainly. “I know, this is a horrible shock but—”

“It doesn't matter.” Gabriel let the paper fall to the ground. Then he pulled her into his arms. “At least, he doesn't matter to me.”

She relaxed against him, her arms winding around his neck, but her gaze was still anxious and searching. “You'll tell the others though?”

“Yeah. Though this won't make any difference to what we decide to do.”

“What if Eva tells us it's not him? That he didn't do those things?”

“Then nothing.” His arms tightened around her. “I don't want anything from him. Like I said, he doesn't matter. The only thing that matters to me is you.”

The tense look on her face eased a fraction. “But what if he's behind whatever happened to Eva? And … Daniel…”

Gabriel gathered her closer to him. “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

She searched his face a long moment. “If he's the one who hurt Eva, Zac won't sit by twiddling his thumbs, even if he knows Fitzgerald is your father.”

Gabriel smiled and it wasn't a pleasant one. “Like I said, I don't care. If Zac wants to take the law into his own hands, that's up to him. I won't stop him.”

Honor let out a breath, a small blue spark of pain flaring in her eyes. “What about Violet? God, Gabriel. She's your half sister.”

Fuck, so she was. After years of being an only child, he now had a sibling.

Not quite sure how to deal with that, he bent, brushing Honor's mouth with his instead. Soothing her. “We can't do anything until we hear from Eva. Violet will have to wait.”

“You're right.” Honor leaned her head against his shoulder. “You're taking this very well, I have to say.”