Strip You Bare (12 page)

He sucked in a deep breath, the thick, warm air coating the inside of his throat. Sarah was still asleep back at the mansion, very likely. She had no idea that her family was involved somehow in the death of his mentor. Had no idea that she had a group of angry bikers hungry for the blood of someone responsible, all looking in her direction.

He couldn’t ignore the fact that when things went down, it was entirely possible Sarah would end up standing in the crosshairs. He was beginning to wonder if he was the one who might have to stand in between her and the men he had once known as brothers.

He stopped, looking back at the Priory, then looking ahead toward where the Delacroix mansion loomed. He kept his focus straight ahead and walked back to the mansion. Back to Sarah.

When he got to the mansion, he felt her absence immediately. He wasn’t sure why, what kind of magic her presence possessed that he could sense the lack of it, he only knew he did.

He made his way up the stairs and jerked the bedroom door open, but it was empty.

It was empty, with the Ministry knowing there was a Delacroix connection. Empty with Ajax sporting a vengeance boner that was indiscriminate.

He swore and walked out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him and making his way straight back down the stairs. He didn’t know where she was, but his first guess would be her apartment. It was a short walk across the Quarter. Stepping from Bourbon to Royal was almost like stepping into another world. If Bourbon Street was what you found beneath the skirt of a whore, Royal Street was her smiling, painted face. Neither was all that respectable, but one could at least fake it.

He moved through the streets quickly, ignoring the acid zombies that started to roam the street this time of night, lurking in the alleys, fighting dragons only they could see. The gas lanterns flickered above him, casting pools of ghostly orange light down on the pavement. It was easy to see why people who didn’t believe in the supernatural became more flexible when they entered the city.

Micah didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on the supernatural. Anything you couldn’t stop with a bullet was something he didn’t like to think about.

He approached the townhouse Sarah lived in. Pink with white trim, and the same wrought iron details found on most buildings in the Quarter. He needed a key to get into the courtyard, or he could scale the gate. Micah was fine with scaling the gate. It was how he’d gotten in the first time. He reached up and gripped the top of the iron fencing, braced his boot in the center of the vertical slab, and pulled upward, resting his other boot on the top of the gate before launching himself over and down into the small garden area. He straightened and walked toward the door with Sarah’s number on it.

That was easy to get into as well. A small entryway led to a narrow staircase, and he followed it to her front door. He debated the merit of knocking. It struck him then how funny it was that just letting himself in seemed more logical than requesting entry. In San Francisco he would never dream of treating a woman that way. Of invading her personal space like that. Not so much because he cared, but because he had learned the customs of his adopted home. He’d learned, more or less, how to be a normal man, rather than the half-feral beast he was here.

No doubt about it, sometimes he missed the beast.

Still, he raised his hand and knocked.

“Just a second,” he heard Sarah’s voice, coming through the door, going straight through him like melted honey. He could sense her pressing her body against the door, looking through the peephole. He could hardly wait to have her again. After he yelled at her for being an idiot and going out by herself. Or maybe that could wait.

He heard her undo the lock, and a second later she opened the door. “Hello,” she said, a cool expression on her face, her manicured hand planted firmly on her hip.

“Hi.”

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said.

“I wasn’t expecting you to have left the mansion. I hope you didn’t walk here.”

“My driver took me.”

He pushed past her and into the living room. “That is the only thing that’s saving you from getting your ass spanked.”

She blinked and slammed the front door behind her, turning the lock. “Oh really?”

“We’ve been through this. This isn’t whatever fantasy you have of what motorcycle clubs are. You’re in the middle of what could be a potential war.”

“I take it you didn’t leave me in bed just to prove a point?” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, her dark eyes glittering fiercely.

“Is that what you thought?”

“I didn’t know what to think. I woke up and you were gone. It isn’t like I have your phone number.”

“I had a meeting.”

She uncrossed her arms. “And I assume it wasn’t for your”—she raised her hands making air quotes with her fingers—“business”—she let her arms fall back down at her sides—“but something to do with the other biker guys.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you really have business in San Francisco? What do you do?”

“How did this turn into a getting-to-know-you conversation?”

“Well, I’ve had sex with you twice, and now you’re in my house again. You know where I live, you know my family. You know that I just broke up with my fiancé. Also that I was a virgin. I think I should know something about you. So that way when you disappear off into the night I might know what I should do with myself. Should I wait for you to get back? Should I run home?”

“Always stay where I can get to you,” he said, a surge of protectiveness overtaking him. “I was pretty fucking pissed you took off after that first time. And not just because I wanted you again.”

“I was hardly going to get hurt going across the Quarter. You forget, I’ve lived here most of my life.”

“But you only see part of it,” he said. “I lived on the street here. I grew up running drugs in the back alleys, dealing with hookers, criminals. I was saved by the bad guys. It was the Deacons who took me in. Took me away from my drunk of a father. Saved me from getting stabbed on the street, from bleeding out into the gutters. You’re not going to impress me by saying you grew up here. You walked above the streets, sugar. You’ve got gold underneath your feet, keeping you from getting too dirty as you pass through. I’ve been down below. That’s where I grew up. You’ve never even seen all this city has in it. You think it’s all jazz music and architecture? There are wars waged out there every day. So stay where I can get to you.”

The color in her cheeks had dulled slightly, her lips growing pale. “Micah . . . I’m not in
specific
danger, am I? I’ve accepted your general looming because . . . well, I’m attracted to you. Let’s be honest. But I’m getting concerned.”

He closed the distance between them, putting his hand on her cheek. “No, baby. There’s just . . . shady shit happening right now. But I’m with you. And when I’m not . . . this will be over. You won’t have to worry. But for as long as you need me, I’m here.”

“Is this more pretending? More of you playing like you’re protecting me, when you’re just hanging around because they ordered you to?”

“No.” As he said the word, he realized just how deeply he meant it. “I’m going to protect you.” Above the mission. If Ajax heard him say that, it could cost him the skin on his back. And no, that didn’t mean he would protect her emotions. He would have to get to her grandfather somehow. Would have to dig deeper into the connection between the Delacroix family and the Ministry. But physically? If shit went down, his first act would be to remove Sarah.

He wasn’t certain of very many things, but the fact that she was innocent was one of them. The fact that she was at the center of something she should never have been involved in was another.

“That’s nice of you.”

“Nice of me? I just pledged to protect you from harm.”

“And it was very nice,” she said, her cultured accent only making the exchange more ridiculous.

He reached out, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, relishing the silky feel of her skin beneath his. “Now, don’t get confused and start thinking I’m nice, baby.”

Her tongue darted out, touching the tip of his thumb. He shifted, pushing it into her mouth. She sucked him before swirling her tongue over it, her eyes never leaving his. He pulled back, suddenly so hard he could barely breathe through it. “Don’t worry. I know you aren’t nice.”

“Good. I’m going to protect you, that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you. In the end, I almost guarantee you I will.”

“You almost make it sound sexy.” Again that voice, sweet like honey, poured over him. Too sweet for him. Too good for him.

He slipped his hand behind her head, held her tight as he bent and pressed his lips to hers. He’d thought she might resist. Nothing was a given between them, after all. But the moment their lips touched, she was all in. He wasn’t sure why she wanted to kiss him. Wasn’t sure why she wanted to be with him at all.

She was soft. Everywhere she was soft. So beautiful, so refined. She was everything he’d never been able to touch when he lived here, offered to him now with no reservations at all. Yeah, he knew what he got out of this. A pretty, rich girl, who’d never had another guy. That wasn’t tough to figure out. But what did he offer her? Rebellion?

He was probably her idea of roughing it. Her idea of what it meant to get it on with the bad boy.

For some reason, the thought enraged him. He had no right. Not when he was standing there thinking of what soft luxury she represented to him. But his body wasn’t interested in fair right now. It never was.

He reached back, working his fingers through her hair, gripping her hard, and tugging her head backward. She liked that. He knew she did. Could tell by the sharp glitter in her eyes, by the way her lips parted, the way her breathing increased. “Be careful with me,” he said. “Don’t tease about pain unless you want some. I’m not your pet, Sarah.” He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the side of her neck, feeling her shiver beneath him. “You aren’t in control here.” He tightened his hold on her, satisfied when he heard her gasp. He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “I’m in charge.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” she said, her expression nothing less than mutinous.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her hard against his body. “You think I need you to agree? Oh no, baby. That’s not the game.”

She rolled her hips against him, her eyes never leaving his. “You think you have all the control?”

“As much as I want.” She leaned in, kissing him, slow and deep. Then she bit his bottom lip, the sensual impact hitting him low and hard. “I’m not the only one who likes it rough.”

“You think you’ve had it rough?” His throat was tight, arousal making it difficult for him to breathe. “That shows just how inexperienced you are. You want rough? Is that what you’re after? If you think you do, you better be very careful, very sure.”

He didn’t treat women like this. This wasn’t who he was. This wasn’t what he did. But the need that was roaring through him was stronger than any sense of who he’d been versus what he’d become. There was nothing beyond this need. Nothing beyond his instinct to claim her, to banish the tightening in his chest. To make her understand just who he was.

He released his hold on her, and she stumbled back, her hair disheveled, her eyes wide.

“If you want it, go into the bedroom. But once we’re in there? You are
mine
. And I’m going to show you just what that means.”

She swallowed hard, her pale throat working with the motion, and then, eyes on him, she swept past him, removing her dress as she headed toward her bedroom. He watched her as the fabric fell away, pooling at her feet. She stepped gracefully out of it, still wearing her high heels from earlier, the shoes accentuating the sway of her hips.

Her panties revealed more than they concealed, the pale curve of her ass so enticing he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. But it wasn’t just that, it was everything. Her slender waist, the elegant line of her spine, the way she held her shoulders. Like a haughty queen walking through court rather than a woman who’d just been ordered to go to her room.

He followed her slowly, his hands going to his belt buckle, working it through the loop slowly, undoing the front of his jeans. He felt like a predator stalking his prey. But that’s what he was. Still, his prey had a hold of him and was happily leading him back to her den. It made him wonder who was hunting whom.

She paused at the doorway, stopping, gripping the doorframe, and pausing, looking over her shoulder at him. If he could choose one image to save forever, one that would flash before his eyes when he died, it would be Sarah, standing there naked except for a lacy bra, barely there panties, and high heels, looking at him with an invitation to devour her evident in her eyes.

His stomach tightened, along with his throat, and he found he couldn’t breathe. “You too scared?” The overwhelming sensation inside him made him angry, made his words clipped.

She didn’t say anything, instead, she released her hold on the doorframe and walked deeper into her bedroom.

Micah followed her inside. It was a feminine room, in keeping with the rest of the house. Pristine, almost untouched in appearance. He was going to wreck this place. Wreck her. Wreck them both.

“Stand there,” he said, his voice strained as he gestured toward the foot of the bed. “Don’t move until I tell you to.” He closed the door behind him, then slowly turned the lock, the sound loud in the silence of the room. He turned back to Sarah. “You’re not leaving until I’m finished with you.”

Liquid dark eyes met his and she took a step backward, her legs butting up against the end of the bed. The retreat sparked something inside of him, igniting the urge to hunt, the urge to pursue his prey.

She stepped to the side, backing farther away, toward a white, pristine vanity with a large mirror that allowed him to look at her tits and her ass at the same time. She gripped the edge of the vanity, leaning backward as though trying to put greater distance between them. He could see desire written on her face, could see it evidenced in her pale skin, flushed rose.

She was more than happy to play the part of prey for him. She got something out of it, that much was clear. Had from the beginning. Fine by him since it touched dark places inside of him he’d ignored for the past decade. Dark, erotic places he’d made an attempt to starve to death while he played the part of civilized man working his way up the corporate ladder. He played the part of rough guy from the wrong side of the tracks for the pleasure of his lovers, always had. But it was controlled. He gave them what they thought they wanted, gave them the kind of thing their limited imagination expected from a man with a motorcycle club patch inked onto his back.

But he didn’t go deep enough, dark enough, to satisfy himself.