Dare You to Run (11 page)

Her mouth was dry as she walked into the house, through the laundry room, and into the kitchen. The scent of coffee lingered, but there was only a single mug sitting upside down on a folded dishtowel. The rest of the counter was spotless—even the mug looked clean.

A ripple of relief went through her.

But that made her stiffen. She wasn't there to have Vitus rescue her. It was her turn to return the favor. She moved past the round wooden table that was in the dining room and came upon a huge, man-sized sofa that sat facing an equally man-sized plasma flat screen. There wasn't a coffee table. Instead, either side of the sofa had a footrest that came out to become a recliner.

She sat down, jealous of being able to have furniture designed for comfort instead of fashion. The leather of the sofa was scuffed and the floor had a few scrapes in it, but she found it more pleasing than the perfectly polished marble floor of her sire's entryway.

This was a home, and yet there were some things that were similar. The lack of personal items struck her as sad. There wasn't a single family picture on the walls, no knickknacks in sight, not a single dust collector on the mantle. Everything in the room had a function. There was nothing superfluous, nothing to give away the personal traits of the man who lived there.

Of course, that was the way he wanted it. The way he'd chosen to live. In some ways, that had fascinated her, making her think the small things he shared with her were more important than they really were. He liked Tabasco sauce on his eggs and she knew it, even if there wasn't a bottle of it on the table. No, Vitus would never leave his personal items out. He hid them, concealing who he was because that was the life he'd chosen to lead.

It would be hers too.

And she wasn't sorry.

Only sorry that this would be the last contact she would ever have with Vitus Hale.

*   *   *

His phone vibrated.

Vitus pulled it free and stared at the screen. His brain didn't freeze up very often, but obviously there was a first time for everything. He ended up cussing at the security flag from his home system. The thing didn't make mistakes, so if it said Damascus Ryland was in his house, she was there. He swiped his finger across the screen and selected one of the security cameras he had mounted around his property.

It was her.

And the
fucking
world tilted off-center.

He stared for another long moment at her face before he cussed and put the phone back into his side pocket.

*   *   *

He was home.

Damascus felt him. Call that what you may, but she was sure she felt his presence registering on her skin. The air in the house fairly crackled as she felt him drawing closer. She sat still, keeping her chin up and her hands on her knees. Her breath was stuck in her throat as she caught the first sight of him, just a quarter of his face as he looked around the doorframe. She was facing down the barrel of his handgun. He had his finger on the trigger, his left hand cupping the butt. His bare forearms allowed her to see the definition that proved he was just as hard and deadly as she recalled.

She bit her lower lip to keep from talking, her composure flying to pieces like it was being hit by a tornado. All the resolve and self-discipline she'd spent the last three years cultivating was being ripped away in chunks and strips by the sheer force of nature. He finished checking the house before coming back to stare at her. She felt his glare, like it was burning away the layers of the façade she'd built after realizing she had to leave him.

“You wanted my attention?” he asked at last, his voice a low rumble that suited the nearly dark room. The only light was coming from a red light. It had turned on the moment she entered the room, allowing her to see without killing off her night vision.

“Actually, that's my question for you,” she said as she stood. He'd stopped across the room from her, the gun tucked against his center back behind his belt. She was quivering, being so close to him driving her nearly insane.

Get a grip … your father plays for keeps.

His brows lowered. “I don't follow.”

“Your brother is trailing me,” she informed him. “You bugged my dragonfly, didn't you?”

Surprise widened his eyes. It was a momentary loss of control, one he masked quickly but not before she saw it.

“I knew it,” she said. “That was a low thing to do. The dragonfly belonged to my grandmother. It's important to me.”

Which was why he'd used it, she realized as the words sailed out of her mouth. What the hell was wrong with her? Vitus sure wouldn't be sparing much empathy for her bruised feelings. She needed to get back on topic. Fast.

“I did place a bug in the dragonfly.” He lifted a finger and pointed at her. “As a safeguard, when you were my responsibility. I haven't used it since.”

“Well your brother is using it now. I caught him today, at the university.” She shot his attempt to dodge the issue out of the air. “And Saxon wouldn't be watching me unless you were in on it.”

“You're guessing, Princess.”

There was arrogance in his tone. One that she wanted to hate, but she knew it was earned and that just pissed her off even more because of how it made her pulse jump. But it also wasn't a denial—he was dodging the question and trying to distract her.

“I saw him, and there was no way he would have known where I was unless he had a tracking beacon.” She looked away from him, realizing she was saying too much. Her association with Colonel Magnus had to remain secret. She drew in a deep breath and turned to face him again. “Well, I'm here to tell you to stop.”

“Saxon has a reason to keep an eye on your father. That doesn't mean he'd trail you.”

“He was with me at the university,” she said confidently. “And you have to stop before—”

She shut her mouth with a click of her teeth. A second later, Vitus had her by the forearms, his seemingly relaxed stance in the doorway nothing but a smoke screen to keep her at ease and spilling her guts.

“Before what?” he demanded.

“Before anyone else notices.”

His eyes narrowed. It was a look she recognized, one that warned her he was filtering her words, peeling them away and getting ready to unmask her.

“Don't over think it.” She flipped her hand in the air and took a moment to break eye contact so she could get a handle on her emotions. He released her, watching her as she moved away from him.

“Can't look me in the eye, Princess?”

Busted.

Damascus grasped at her resolve, drawing on the memory of just what her father had looked like when he'd pointed at his desk phone.

“There's no reason to. I've said what I came to.”

There. It was done. She turned to leave. Vitus moved in a motion that was as fluid as it was sharp, intercepting her, stepping into her path so that she ended up recoiling into a corner between the doorjamb and the wall. He was suddenly too close for her failing composure. Her façade was coming apart at the seams.

“You took a damn stupid risk coming here by yourself. Thank God I had the system enabled to let you in or you'd have been stuck on the step like a sitting duck for who the hell knows how long. Don't be stupid like that, Princess. Your father has a lot of enemies.”

He was hissing through clenched teeth. She tried to recoil from his temper, slapping at his chest when he held her without any real effort. Somehow, she'd forgotten just how bloody strong he was, but what she really needed to get away from was the way he was trying to protect her. She couldn't take shelter in his embrace. It would be the kiss of death for him.

“Well, I did do it,” she shot back. “You and your brother aren't the only ones who know how to play shadow games. And no one taught me how to do it.”

She was suddenly free and stumbled back a few paces, finally coming to rest against the wall.

“You shouldn't have to learn,” Vitus said softly. So softly, she might have missed the sympathy in his tone.

But she didn't, and she lifted her chin, needing to be more than the helpless creature she was the last time she'd been inside his house. “You think I want to be the princess you always called me?” She shook her head. “I'm not a little girl.”

His lips twitched, curving sensuously as his eyes narrowed in a purely male way. It had been three long years since she'd seen that look on his face, but she recognized it instantly, sensation rippling across the surface of her skin in response. There was no thinking, no deciding what she felt, there was only him and the way her body sprang to life when he was close enough to touch her.

“I have never”—he stepped closer, her senses so keen, she heard the soft sound of his boot connecting with the wooden floor—“never … thought of you as a little girl.” All the tiny hairs on her skin were standing straight up as he closed the space so that he could flatten his hands against the wall on either side of her face.

His eyes were closed now as he leaned down and inhaled against her hair.

“I tried so damn hard to forget the way you smell…”

She heard the desire in his voice, felt it wash through her like a flash flood, sweeping everything else aside in a blink of an eye. There was only the moment and the fact that she knew it would be her last with him. Wrong? It seemed a far greater crime to turn her back on what fate had delivered. All she wanted to do was cherish it, until she was forced to resume being realistic.

“
Touch me
.” She couldn't have held the words back if she'd tried.

“Don't say that,” he warned, but it sounded like he intended it for himself. “I need to get you back … before we both lose our heads.”

“I can't think…” What she wanted was right there. She could smell him, feel his body heat, and all she wanted was a taste to go with it all, to send her into sensory overload where reality could just fucking drown. “… when you're this close.”

“I know.” He answered in a tone coated with hunger. It was like a living, breathing thing between them. He closed the distance, surrounding her with his scent.

She lost the battle and reached out, finished with waiting and being cautious. He was too close, too real to be ignored in favor of doing the wise thing. His chest felt as good as she recalled, hard and sculpted. His T-shirt was a thin barrier, but it frustrated her because it kept her from what she craved.

So she dug her fingers into the soft jersey and yanked it up. The tail came free from his belt, rising up to give her exactly what she wanted.

*   *   *

“Fuck it and everything else we both should do,” he said and reached down to take control of his shirt. There was a rustle of motion, a bunching of his abdominal muscles as he pulled the shirt up and over his head, chucking it across the room with a motion full of barely controlled strength. He was breathing as hard as she was, both of them a hairbreadth from some sort of explosion. Damascus felt it building inside her as she licked her lips with anticipation.

His face tightened as his gaze settled on her tongue and made the journey across her lower lip. She was fingering the fabric of her dress, and suddenly couldn't bear the impediment of it between them. She tugged it up, pulling it above her head before she felt him grasp it and finish the job.

The cool air hit her overheated skin, but only for a moment before he caught her up against him. He captured her mouth in a searing kiss. She moaned softly, unable to contain all the sensation inside her any longer. He pressed her lips apart, licking across her lower lip before threading his hands into her hair, thrusting his tongue into her mouth to stroke hers.

She shuddered, the bluntness of it making her clit pulse. Her heart was hammering with a crazy rhythm, but she didn't care if it burst. The only thing on her mind was to get closer to him. She reached for his belt, fumbling with it as she struggled to free what she craved.

“Fuck … no,” he growled as he put her at arm's length. “Too fast.”

His voice was raspy and his face looked like it was etched in solid stone. There was a fury in his eyes that should have scared her, but the only thing she had room for in her brain was the need to touch him again.

But Vitus wasn't letting her decide anything. He scooped her off her feet like she weighted as much as a pillow, cradling her against his chest as he carried her through the dark house to his bed. Her belly tightened as she realized what he was doing, excitement curling her toes even as she fought off a twinge of frustration for the way he was taking command.

She couldn't expect anything less from him, but he wasn't the only one with desires. She flipped over and rose to her knees the moment he tossed her onto the mattress. It bounced, the springs groaning as she reached behind her and unhooked the flimsy bra she'd bought. Her cash fluttered down as she enjoyed the way Vitus had frozen, his gaze riveted on her breasts, his mouth a thin line of hunger.

“Shit,” he groaned, his voice thick with need. His fly was only half open but he leaned across the bed and fastened his lips around one nipple, drawing on the point like he was starving.

She gasped, sensation flowing from that connection down to her clit. He crawled right over her, slipping his knees on either side of her hips as he closed his arms around her and sucked on her tit. She arched back, offering it to him, offering every bit of herself to him.

His … she just wanted to be his.

And Vitus didn't disappoint her. He pulled her against him as he leaned over at what should have been an impossible angle to suck her nipple. His fingers were spread wide across her lower back as she heard her own breathless cry echo off the ceiling. And then she was falling backward onto the bed as he pulled his hands along the curve of her waist to catch the edges of her underwear. He was stripping it down her legs before she finished settling completely onto her back.