A Kiss of Revenge (Entangled Ignite) (20 page)

“How did you find me?” she demanded as soon as she opened the door, mostly to hide her despair and longing.

“It’s my job, remember?” He stepped into the room and glanced around outside before closing and chaining the door. She backed away, her mind taking in his shaggy hair, the gray-blue T-shirt that matched his eyes, the darker blue button-down he wore over it with sleeves rolled up over his forearms, the perfect-fitting jeans. Her nostrils flared when she caught his scent, dark and musky with a hint of salt air. Her body went on full alert, trying to arch toward him, to move her closer. Fine hairs stood up, making tiny snaps as electrons and protons connected, electrifying the air around her. She struggled to think, to find a distraction from him, from the silent chant of “
Free, you’re free!
” in the back of her head.

“You read Missirian’s file. You saw the island’s address.”
Duh
.

“I knew where you were going before you did.” He prowled the room, checking the windows and the bathroom, then the dead bolt on the door.

She circled the room in counterpoint to him, staying on the opposite side so she didn’t make a fool of herself. But he stopped next to the bed and beckoned with one finger.

She didn’t have the power to say no.

He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head under his chin, rocking her back and forth. She squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t cry.

“I’m so sorry, Reese. About Brian.”

She pushed her face harder into his chest, not caring that she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to. If she breathed, she’d cry. She didn’t want to cry in front of Griff. Didn’t want to share her grief over her husband’s death. No, she wanted more than that. More than comfort, or escape. And she couldn’t have it. Her arms tightened around him and her body pressed against his without her permission, and it felt so fucking
good
. He was hard and solid and big and broad, and she breathed in his scent again, and her body said,
“He’s mine!”
and her brain said,
“You can’t do that to him, Reese, can’t take everything from him and then go kill a man
.
”

She lifted her head, intending to pull away and say something, anything, to make him leave. But he was ready, his mouth covering hers immediately. He tasted of knowledge and determination, the kiss no tentative exploration. He wasn’t going to let her chase him away. Not now. So she stopped trying, gave in. And drowned in him.

Their tongues danced and tangled. She sucked his, wanting it deeper, and he groaned and pulled her tighter against him. He was hard, rock hard, against her pelvis. Her blood sped through her veins and her breathing turned to pants and she wanted to climb his body. Or climb into it.

Tingles that weren’t borne of desire alerted her to an impending loss of control. She breathed deeply, calming her body before concentrating on sealing it off from nearby electricity.

Griff pulled back, his hands holding her head. “Are you hurt anywhere? From the fire?”

“No. Not outside.” She kissed him again, not wanting words between them, only sensation. Like the smooth skin of his arms and the iron muscles underneath.

She shoved his shirt off his shoulders so she could dig her fingers into the grooves around his triceps, her hands up under the sleeves of his T-shirt. When she couldn’t go any higher, she dropped her hands to his waist and dragged the shirt up to his chest. Her palms rasped over his nipples and traced his pecs and down to his six-pack abs. Her fingertips outlined the muscles with her fingertips, the lightness of her touch making his stomach tighten even more. Hot against her palms, his skin grew damp. She pressed, stroking, and slid her hands around to his back, exploring every detail, climbing his spine, then flattening so her arms and hands met as much skin as possible. She could never get enough.

He released her to rip off his shirt, then the T-shirt, and her mouth found his skin. Hot and salty. He tasted as good as he smelled, and she licked him, sucked on him, stroked and clutched and kissed everywhere she could reach—his chest, with nipples pebbled against her tongue, the centerline of his ridged abdomen, the hard jut of his hip just above the waistband of his jeans, where she bit and scraped her teeth so that he flinched away from her. She was dimly aware of her own shirt disappearing, of her body burning wherever his hands stroked. She yanked at his jeans, cursing at the button fly.

“Got something against zippers?” she growled, making him chuckle. Until she gave up on the buttons and plunged her fingers into his briefs to wrap around him. She sighed with him and rose to kiss him again, this time their mouths more slack, more carnal and less urgent. His taste filled her, like a potion designed to inflame only her. To please only her.

She writhed with desire, more alive than she’d been in a year. No, much longer. Her breasts ached until Griff put his hands on them, gently cupping and squeezing, the contact points drawing in his heat and pure sensation. It flared as it sank into her body, flowing through to her core, where a mirroring ache suddenly pierced. She shifted so his leg slid between her thighs, and he knew just what she needed, pressing upward so she rode him. But the ache only intensified, deepened.

She needed his hand. His fingers. She needed
him,
inside her.

But if she took him now it would be over in seconds. If this were about comfort and escape, that was all she’d want, but deny it as she would—it was far more. “Over in seconds” would kill her. She needed enough to sustain her through—

No. Don’t think
.

She ripped his jeans open and shoved them and his briefs down to his ankles, then bent like she was going to help him remove them. Instead, she covered him with her mouth, making him convulse, groan, and bury his hands in her hair. More hot and salty, all Griffin, throbbing and hardening even more in her hands and mouth. For a moment her mindless desire receded, and all she wanted was to pleasure him.

“Christ, Reese.” He thrust his hips forward, almost involuntarily, his legs quivering with his effort at control. She took more of him, drawing her tongue hard over the crease at the front, circling, then sucking as she slid down as far as she could. He pulsed, hot and ready under her hand. She repeated the movements, over and over, until her jaw and mouth ached, resisting his weak attempt to stop her.

He finally managed to pull away and coax her to her feet. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, gathering her to him and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I need you, Griff,” she whispered, a real tear finally leaking past her lashes. “I can’t—” She choked on the words, uncertain what she was even going to say. “Please.”

“Okay. But it’s my turn.” He kept her close to him as he undressed her down to her cheap department store bra and underwear and laid her gently on the bed. He kissed her breastbone where the butterfly necklace lay, then gently stroked his hands over her body until she relaxed, muscles settling onto the bed, wiggling a little until she lay under him and could reach his body with her own hands.

Then he bit. The side of her neck, the inner curve of her breast, her distended nipple through her bra. Everything changed again. Desire flared, aches growing, need driving her to gasp and cry out, over and over. She arched, and his hand covered the other breast while he tugged aside the lace with his teeth and pulled her nipple into his mouth. He pinched and she cried out, a rush of moisture readying her for his next move. She lifted her hips, wanting him inside her, reaching for the fullness of him against her inner thigh. But he pulled back and she felt cold and alone.

Hating the sudden, negative reversal of need, she kept her eyes closed and waited. She heard a rustle and a rip and realized what he was doing. Another tear leaked out, this time at his caring. After a moment he touched her again, his fingers tender as they pulled off her underwear, then lightly stroked up her leg. Her skin tingled in their wake and she ached for him to touch her again.

He did. First he licked his fingers and slid them over her, up and down and in circles. Pleasure tightened in the bud he stroked, but he seemed to know exactly when to stop. One finger thrust inside her, then two, and he pressed upward, sending waves of sweet sensation through her entire body. But it still wasn’t enough. This wasn’t about simple pleasure, and it wasn’t about her needs alone.

“Griff.”

“Not yet. If this is all…” He didn’t continue, but as he shifted down the bed, her mind supplied the words.
If this is all we’re going to have, it will be—

At his contact, she shrieked and twisted to bury her face against a pillow. His tongue stroked her again, flat, then hard, so smooth and slick and
Oh, my God
, she couldn’t stand the pleasure that spun her, or spun the room around her, she couldn’t tell which. His fingers drove into her, his tongue flicked over her clit, and everything tightened, tightened, pulled her higher and higher as every muscle tensed, waiting, and then she burst into flames.

But it wasn’t enough. Something was missing. “Griff! Now!” She both begged and ordered, and he obeyed. Fast, still knowing exactly what to do, what to give her and how, he slid up over her and drove into her body before the crest of her orgasm had crashed down. She squeezed him rhythmically as he thrust and withdrew, and his groan somehow intensified everything. Instead of throbbing down to contentment, she climbed again, this time slow, intense, beats of ecstasy that had her crying his name. She was almost there again when he slowed.

She sobbed against his shoulder as he lowered his body to cover her, stretched his legs between hers, pushed his arms under her back to pull her up against him. Now he rocked into her, slow pulses that pressed his hardness high against her clit. Each time she almost came, but not quite, and she got lost in the rhythm. She saw nothing but bursts of lights behind her eyelids. Heard no sound but his grunts and gasps, his murmurs of pleasure. Smelled only his skin and their passion. Felt only his body, his arms, his mouth, not even the bed supporting them, only him, deep inside her, in so many ways.

She endured a few more strokes like that, then cried out in both frustration and fear. This was too much, she was too lost. If she fell any further she’d never come back, never be whole again. She sank her teeth into his shoulder and her nails into the muscles of his back, wrapped her legs around his hips, and shoved him into her with her feet, squeezing him as she did.

He held back, his entire body taut as he gently fought her. Then she cried his name again, and some other sound she couldn’t identify, something real and raw that sent him exploding into action, thrusting deep into her, groaning her name as he buried his face in her throat. The power of making him lose control swept her up and into an orgasm so powerful she sizzled as she shattered, golden light fracturing her vision. His arms tightened around her body as he plunged into her a few more times and they shuddered in unison, ecstasy waving through her from center to fingertips, toes, head. She’d never felt anything like it before.

They lay entangled until their breathing slowed and heartbeats calmed. Slowly, she came back to herself. But as long as he lay upon her, the outside world was held at bay. She wouldn’t mourn her husband, or think about murder, or even about Griff. She could just lie here and…be Reese Templeton.

Griff lifted up on his elbows, then dipped his head and kissed her. He tasted wonderful, like happiness and love, and suddenly “outside” was in here. He touched her cheek and kissed her mouth again, the tenderness in both gestures telling her she’d made a huge mistake. She should never have opened the door.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently. “Did it hurt?”

It didn’t sound like the typical
après
-sex question. She frowned, and he tilted his head toward the wall. She turned and saw scorch marks around the wall outlet next to the bed. She smelled burning rubber and realized it came from the lamp. The porcelain where the wire entered had black marks. The clock radio was dead. She tilted her head back, and saw the light fixture on the wall above them had blackened bulbs—they’d burned out.

Oops.

“I guess I need more training,” she said without thinking, then bit her tongue. There was no room here for flirtatiousness or fun. She was going to make him hate her, and soon.

Hell, might as well start now.

“Well, that helped.” She rolled out of his arms and off the bed, wishing she had a robe. She settled for a towel from the bathroom.

“Helped what?” Griff’s voice was wary, and when she came out of the ugly bathroom, insufficiently covered, she found him sitting on the side of the bed, having made no move to put any clothes on.

“Escape, of course.” She leaned toward him and offered a quick, hard peck on the cheek. Totally insulting, and totally inviting with his soft, delicious mouth so close. She straightened away from him quickly and began picking up her clothes. “I needed the distraction.”

He was silent for a minute. She heaped her clothes on the desk and tossed him his jeans.

“Distraction.”

“Yes. Thank you. If I’d sat here thinking about Brian all night, I’d have—” She shook her head, leaving it unsaid. But Griff still watched her with narrowed eyes, disbelieving, so she delivered the killing blow. She hoped. “How much do I owe you?”

That was it. His mouth dropped. “
What?
”

“I don’t think I’ll need your PI services anymore. With Brian dead and the authorities finally directing the investigation the right way, I think this is all over. And I should pay you what I owe you.”

It almost killed her to say it. She stood in her stupid towel, determinedly keeping her face cold and expressionless.

And finally, it sank in. He stood and thrust his legs into his jeans, yanked on his T-shirt, stomped into his shoes.

“I can’t believe I waited all this time,” he ground out. “Stood by you through everything, helped you on this vengeance quest, and played the good friend. Biding my time. Waiting for you to be free. And this is what I get. How much do you fucking
owe
me?” Then he went from looking murderous to completely defeated. “Just tell me one thing, Reese. One thing before I walk out of your life.”