What He Wants (2 page)

“You might say that.” His hold on my neck tightened a tiny bit. It was just enough for me to notice, make me shiver a little, but not enough to make me really scared.

“Dangerous, how?”

“Just dangerous…” Moving fast, he grabbed both my arms and jerked them around my back. My heart jumped. I gasped. “Like this,” he said, tipping his head lower, whispering. “Dangerous, like needing things you might not be ready for.”

“What kind of things?”

He gathered my wrists into one fist and walked me backward until my body was smashed between him and the side of the restaurant. It felt so good, being trapped like this, powerless and waiting breathlessly for his next move. I didn’t have to wait long. His mouth slammed against mine. His lips smoothed over mine, and his tongue shoved into my mouth. He tasted so good, like man and wine. He felt so good, hard and hot. He smelled so good too, of need and woodsy cologne.

I surrendered willingly. His kiss was a possession. Hard and demanding and feral. Intoxicating. Wild rushes of erotic need slammed through me with every flick of his tongue, and I moaned into our joined mouths. I ached. I wanted more. I needed more.

When he broke the kiss, I whimpered. He didn’t back away. His body was crushed against mine, and I was so glad about that. My pelvis rolled forward and back in time to the pounding heat throbbing in my center.

“Dammit.” He jerked back, stared at me.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re Katherine’s daughter.”

“So what? I’m an adult.”

“But—“

“But, what?” I didn’t understand what his problem was. Clearly, he was feeling guilty because he was Mom’s old friend. But that wasn’t a problem for me. “Like I said, I’m an adult.”

“Yes, so I can see.” As if to illustrate, his gaze shifted south, landing at roughly boob level.

“So, treat me like one.”

His eyes narrowed for a brief moment. Then he took my hand in his. “Okay.” He hurried me back to his car, circled around the rear to open my door. Once I was in my seat, he went around to the driver’s side, folded his large frame into his seat and within seconds we were roaring down the road. “But I have an idea you’ll change your mind about this.”

What the hell is this?

I was stunned.

I was speechless.

I was in complete shock.

I had been wrong, when I’d thought I knew Shane Trant. How wrong I had been.

We were at his house, which was completely gorgeous. It was one of those high priced condos in town. He had the top two floors of an industrial building turned luxury condominiums. Huge and gorgeous, furnished with stuff that looked expensive and probably cost a crap ton of money. Recently, I’d started watching home design shows on TV. I’d developed something of an eye for quality. Shane’s house was like a showroom, full of priceless antiques, mixed with sleek, high-priced contemporary furniture. An interesting combination.

Something like the man, himself, now that I thought about it.

That had come as no surprise. I’d expected he would have a nice home.

The problem was one particular room. This one.

It was, for lack of better words, a torture chamber. Dotting the landscape were pieces of creepy looking furniture with big metal rings and heavy chains bolted to it. And in one corner stood a human-sized metal cage. And there were rings bolted to the floor and ceiling. What were those for? I shuddered as I imagined a woman chained up, begging to be freed.

His bulky body was leaning against the doorframe, blocking my exit. “So, now you see why I told you I couldn’t…I wouldn’t take things to the next level?” he asked. “You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman. And I want you. But I’m not the man for you. Because this is what you get.”

“I didn’t know.” I was hugging myself, arms wrapped protectively around my torso.

“You know now.” He motioned for me to leave the torture chamber.

I just couldn’t believe it. This…awful place…belonged to Uncle Shane. Handsome, mysterious, sexy Shane Trant. My mother’s oldest and dearest friend.

Wow. Just…wow.

Dammit. Why? You’re such a sexy, intelligent, fascinating man. Why do you need this?

“Can I get you something to drink before I take you home?” as he stepped to the side to let me pass.

The shock, maybe the gaping, had given me a bad case of cotton mouth. “That would be nice, thanks.” I followed him to the open living-slash-kitchen space. He went to the refrigerator, no doubt top of the line. My gaze wandered around, taking in the expensive furnishings, gorgeous chandelier hanging over the dining table, artwork. By the time it had made its way back to Shane, he was looking at me expectantly. He’d asked me a question.

“What was that?” I asked, my face warming. “I’m sorry.”

“What can I get you to drink?”

Something with a lot of alcohol. “I’ll take water. Thanks.”

“I have some of this flavored water. How’s that?” He pulled a white and pink bottle from the refrigerator. I recognized the label immediately.

“Perfect. My favorite.”

“Mine too.” He filled a tall glass with ice then poured some of the faint pink-colored water to the top.

I scurried over, accepted the glass with a smile and a thanks, and guzzled half of it in one long gulp.

“Thirsty?” he asked, his voice bouncing with laughter.

“A little.” I drained my glass, and he reached for it.

“More?”

“No thanks.” I suppressed a belch. Mistake, chugging that water. But I was nervous and uncomfortable. I couldn’t stop myself.

At least it had been water. If it had been something stronger, I might have found myself chained to something in that torture chamber.

A little quiver shot through me.

He polished off his water and set the glass on the counter. “I guess we’ll head out now.”

“Okay.” Somewhat relieved, somewhat not, I followed him to the door leading out to the elevator. He stepped aside, letting me exit first. As I was brushing close, I turned to face him. I couldn’t stop myself. My heart jerked in my chest, and before I could stop it, the word, “Why?” slipped out of my mouth.

“Why, what? Why, that?” He jerked his head toward the dungeon.

“Yes, why?”

“It’s difficult to explain. It’s an expression of who I am, essentially.”

“You’re…what? Sadistic?”

“No. I don’t get any pleasure from causing others pain. I have a need to control, to dominate. It’s difficult for some people to understand the difference.”

I thought about my mother, how she controlled me, my life, my every move. She was a wonderful woman, just like Shane had said. But she was also extremely controlling. “Actually, I can see it. I was raised by a woman who probably had the same drive.”

“She did.”

A chill swept up my spine.

I didn’t want to ask how he knew that, or what he might be implying by that statement. I knew for a fact that there’d been no torture dungeon in our house. But I suppose she could have gone somewhere else to exercise those demons, out of my sight.

Another shiver swept through my body.

Standing close enough to touch, close enough to smell, he said, “I’m sorry if I said something you weren’t ready to hear.”

“It’s okay.” I forced a smile, hoping it would ease his guilt. For some reason I looked deeply into his eyes. I don’t know what I saw there, shadows, sadness, loneliness, maybe. Regret, perhaps. Something dark. “I still think you’re one of the most amazing men I’ve ever met.”

“And I think you’re one of the most amazing women.” He set his hand on my shoulder, and another buzz of electricity zapped through my body. “That will never change.”

I felt myself leaning toward him, as if some kind of force was drawing me in. And the electricity was getting stronger with every inch I moved closer. I wanted him to kiss me. Despite the torture chamber. Despite the voice in my head, screaming, he’s not for you! Get out of here now!

“Bristol.”

“What?” I was so close now. Near enough to feel the heat radiating off his big, lean body. His mouth was still too far away, though. Much too far. No, too close. Much too close.

I leaned in, drawn to him by that invisible current. Pulling me.

Something like a low growl rumbled from him. “If you don’t leave now, you’re going to learn firsthand what happens in that room.”

I heard him. But part of me didn’t care. The other part, the one that did, wasn’t being very vocal at the moment. “I’m not afraid of you,” I said. The minute the words came out, I regretted them. The way my heart was racing, that had to be a lie. I was afraid. Afraid of that room and what he might do to me in it.

But also afraid that he might shove me out the door and say goodbye and not speak to me for another ten years.

Stay? Go? What did I want?

He cupped my cheek, ran his thumb over my lower lip. “Sure, maybe you aren’t afraid. But can you trust me?”

“I…don’t know.”

His head tipped, moved down, closing the distance between our mouths. “That’s not good enough. But dammit, I want you.”

At the sound of torment in his voice, I threw my arms around his neck and crushed my body against his.

He growled, hooked an arm around my waist and whirled around so I was flat against the wall and his body was holding me there.

Oh. My. God.

His mouth descended upon mine, his tongue shoved its way in, and within seconds, I was writhing against him while he kissed me into a coma.

I felt him scoop me up into his arms. He was carrying me, walking, while our tongues mated and battled. I was losing the war, ready to surrender to him, to the fierce heat boiling in my veins, to the blinding need he’d sparked in my body. He broke the kiss, stared down at me with eyes full of male hunger. “I’m sorry, Bristol. I can’t let you go now. I can’t.”

We kissed again, and again, as he carried me into the dungeon. At some point he set me on my feet, but I was too shaky to stand, and I wasn’t about to let him stop kissing me. I hung onto his neck, arms wrapped tightly, and lost myself in his aggressive, demanding, plundering kiss.

I’d been kissed plenty of times, but never like that.

Never like the man couldn’t get enough.

Never like he was staking a claim.

Never like he was conquering me.

When the kiss ended—not my choice—I clung to him and fought to catch my breath.

“Wow,” I murmured. My gaze started at his mouth but quickly moved to the closest piece of torture furniture. I felt myself backing up.

“You’ve never been in a dungeon, correct?” he asked, hands sliding down my sides.

“Never.”

He blocked my exit with his hulking body, held me at the hips. “If I do something you don’t like, say, Red.”

“Red?” I echoed, trying to wiggle my way free. I wasn’t ready for this. That kiss. It was the kiss’s fault I was in here. I didn’t belong here, no.

He cut me off completely, cornering me against another wall, his body a giant obstacle I couldn’t push past. He caged my head between his hands, arms stretched out. His eyes were dark, hard. “You may beg me to stop, but I won’t. You may plead with me and cry, but I won’t stop. But if you say red, I will cease immediately.”

“Red,” I muttered.

His fingertip trailed down the side of my face, down my jaw, my throat to the center of my breastbone. I sucked in a deep breath and fought to regain my composure. But he was so big and so sexy and so intimidating, I couldn’t speak. “I promise I won’t be too hard on you this first time.” He closed his hands around my waist, forcing me deeper into the room.

Ohmygod, what was happening? “On second thought—”

He kissed me again. His tongue shoved its way into my mouth. It was a hard kiss, a feral one. I was swept up in pulsing waves of sensual heat, barely realizing I was being half-carried, half-shoved as we traveled through his torture dungeon. My head was going blank. I tried to repeat the word red in my head. Would I remember it? What if things got too intense?

Red, red, red.

When the kiss had finally ended, I found myself standing next to the table in the center of the room. He reached under it, pulling out a step stool. The table wasn’t very tall, maybe typical counter height. He patted the table top. “Let’s get you up here.”

Red, red, red.

Why couldn’t I speak? Why couldn’t I move?

He picked me up and plopped me down. My legs dangled over the edge.

Red, red, red.

He eased my knees apart and stepped closer, and I realized, when his hips wedged between my thighs that the table was the perfect height for him to have sex standing up. A flood of warmth pulsed to my core. He caught my wrists, pinning them behind my back and gathering them into one hand. Now there was a hard lump grinding against my crotch and I couldn’t use my hands.

Mmmmm. I liked it.

I didn’t want to like it.

I didn’t want to be in this scary place.

I licked my lips, and his gaze locked on my mouth. “What do you want?” I whispered.

The corners of his lips curled. “You’ll soon find out.” With his free hand, he cupped my breast. The air whooshed out of my lungs, and my spine arched. That only pushed my boob into his hand harder. His lips parted slightly, and I stared at them, wishing I could taste them again.

“Kiss me,” I whispered.

“In this room, I’m the one who gives the commands.” He squeezed, and my head spun. “We need these clothes off.” He released my hands. “Undress.”

With clumsy fingers, I started to undo the buttons of my blouse. But I stopped after only two. What was I doing?

His brows furrowed.

I said, with my heart beating so hard it physically hurt,“I…think I should go home.”

He fisted my wrists, pulled them out away from my body. “You don’t want to leave. You know how I know that?”

I was dizzy. I was scared. And, ohmygod, my body was on fire. I shook my head.

“I can smell your need.” He dipped down a little, inhaling deeply. “And does it smell good. You’re wet.”

My inner muscles clenched, and I felt the slickness of my damp panties. He was right. But that didn’t mean I was ready for this. “I…I…” Holding both my wrists in one hand, he eased back slightly, which allowed him to wedge a hand between our bodies. His fingertip grazed the sodden crotch of my panties, and my face heated.