Blind Fury (16 page)

“Fine.” She yanked free of him and moved to the living room, leaving behind the fresh scent of her shampoo mingled with a hint of cigarette smoke.

“I’m sorry about Brad. I know you wanted to have fun tonight and I ruined it.” Although, he wasn’t really sorry about Brad. He’d wanted to punch him almost as much as he’d been gunning for Smitty.

She turned and gave him an incredulous expression and let out a bitter laugh. “You think this is about Brad?” She shook her head slowly. “You think I’m so desperate that I’d go home with someone I just met in a bar?” Pink splotches colored her cheeks and she straightened to her full height as she said, “That may be your style, but it’s not mine.”

Ouch
. He had no response to that. Apparently, he had no response for anything tonight.

“Beyond that,” she continued, her voice rising, “has it not occurred to you that I might be a little upset that you got into a fistfight?”

His throat tightened. “I didn’t intend for that to happen. I just wanted to ask him a few questions.”

She hesitated, and he could almost see the gears working as she cocked her head and stared at him thoughtfully. “Is he the real reason we went to that bar in the first place?”

She’d figured him out. Maybe even before the police had mentioned that the man’s name was Alan Smith. “I wanted you to have a good time, but I thought I could use the opportunity to talk to Smitty too. I wasn’t planning to—“

“Murder him?” she asked.

Well, yeah, that. He couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore. She read him too well.

An exasperated sigh hissed through her teeth. “What’s going on? What’s so important about this guy, Mick?”
 

He glanced up.
Mistake.
The pleading in her eyes nearly undid him, but he held his ground. She didn’t know what she was asking. “That’s between me and him.”

“Does this have something to do with the pictures? Are you investigating this yourself?” She put her hands on her hips and stared him down. “Were you ever planning to tell me?”

“It’s not about you, Jay. It’s about me.” She didn’t get it—he didn’t want her to—but he was walking a fine line here. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“There has to be something. You were ready to
kill
him.”

The scary thing is that he might have. He’d wanted to, after Smitty slammed him into that table. Who was he kidding? He
still
wanted to.

What did that say about him?

There was real fear in Jenna’s eyes when she looked at him, and he hated himself for that. He’d never wanted to hurt her or have her see him like that. Taking her to Smitty’s hangout had been a bad idea. One of his worst. Right up there with wanting to yank her to the floor and rip her clothes off.

But his need to keep watch over her at all times was trapping them both. He couldn’t keep her safe if he was off hunting down Smitty, and his sense of duty wouldn’t let him pawn her off on someone else while he did. That, and he didn’t want to leave her.

Maybe he owed her something. A small nugget to satisfy her curiosity. He expelled a long breath. “You’re right. I wanted to ask him about the smuggling, but I couldn’t be direct about it because I didn’t want him to know you had evidence.” Mick ran a hand through his hair. “The little asshole wouldn’t tell me anything. He just came at me.”

Her face softened a little and she crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one foot. “Did it occur to you that maybe he was goading you into hitting him? If you go to jail, you’re off his back and no one’s the wiser.”

Yeah, the thought had crossed his mind. Later. When he was thinking rationally again. But that made Smitty a first class idiot, because he could have gotten himself killed.

“He was drunk and not thinking clearly. If he’d been sober, he wouldn’t have provoked me. Smitty’s no genius, but he knows how much I hate him.”

“And why do you hate him so much?”

In spite of himself, Mick chuckled. “You’re a good interrogator. Ever thought of being a cop?”

She put her hands on her slim hips. “I must not be that good. I can never get the truth out of you.”

He rocked back in surprise. That sounded like a challenge. And maybe an opportunity to regain her trust. “Ask me a question about anything besides Rob’s death or this thing with Smitty, and I promise to answer it honestly.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Anything?”

He nodded.

“How many questions?”

What was fair without opening himself up too much? “Three.” He moved to the futon and sat down, propping his feet on the coffee table. “Take your time.”

She watched him carefully, chewing her lip. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“Jeez. Don’t pull any punches, okay, babe?” He closed his eyes for a second. As much as he wished he couldn’t, he remembered every fatal encounter. “Yes.”

His answer couldn’t have been unexpected, but she still gasped and backed into the wall. Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“Why?”

“You want that to be question two?”

She scowled at him. “No. You can’t just answer the follow-up out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Who says I have any goodness in my heart?”

“You should have been a politician.” She sat on one of the bar stools and gripped her water glass, taking a quick sip before she continued. “Okay, question two. Why did you make a point of talking to me every time Rob called?”

Dropping his feet to the floor, he swiveled around so he could see her. A sexy blush stained her cheeks again, and with sudden clarity, he knew the real answer. An honest reply would give away too much, but if he lied, he’d undo any ground he was making up here.

He took a deep breath and held her gaze. “I missed you.”

J
ENNA
HADN
’
T
EXPECTED
M
ICK
’
S
response. His answer did strange things to her nervous system. She wasn’t just a substitute sister to him; he’d missed her. Not just home,
her.
Flutters rose in her belly and spread down to her toes.

Good thing she was sitting down, because his direct gaze was suddenly full of heat. She was useless when he looked at her like that.

This was the direction she needed to take things, though, because in spite of how much he’d frightened her tonight, she still wanted him. She wanted him to get used to sharing his secrets with her. And she wanted him to think about her as a woman, not as Rob’s little sister.

She cleared her throat and rubbed her palms on her thighs in preparation for question three. Did she have the guts to ask? She channeled her inner Tara.
You can do it.
With a fortifying breath, she hopped down from the stool and walked over to him, standing by his feet.

His eyes followed her every move. “Uh-oh,” he said with a grin. “You look way too serious.”

“Number three.”
You can do it.
Shoving her shaky hands into her back pockets, she forced herself to look at him when she spoke. “Do you want me?”

He launched to his feet, gripping her shoulders with warm hands. “You have to ask?”

“After today, yes.” His rejection had killed her confidence.

He tilted her chin up and leaned in, answering in a low voice, “If you knew how much I want you right now, you’d run away.”

“You tried that last time,” she said, lust swirling through her body at his nearness and the memory of their kiss beside the trail. She’d run from his rejection, not his passion.

His hand slid along her neck and up into her hair, cradling her head in his large palm. She closed her eyes and savored his touch as his fingers caressed her scalp. He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his other arm around her waist. She ran her hands along his back, feeling the strong cables of muscle through his soft shirt.

He was all heat and strength and spice, and her body flared to life as they connected from shoulder to toe.

“I want you like I’ve never wanted anything or anyone,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s always been that way with you.”

His words had the power to melt her, and when she looked up at him, she was surprised to see the raw honesty and yearning on his face. “Could have fooled me,” she said, thinking of all the years she’d pined for him, believing that he couldn’t possibly be interested in her, convincing herself that she didn’t want a man like him.

“I was trying to. You were off limits, remember?” He stepped back, running his hands down her body until they rested at her waist, holding her at arm’s length. “You still are. God, what am I doing?”

Her body leaned into him, begging silently for his return. “You were about to kiss me.” Her inner Tara rejoiced at her boldness.

Mick shook his head. “I can’t, Jay. I—“ His face reddened and his hands tightened on her waist, but he just stared at her.

“I know. You promised.” Maybe it was the last of her beer buzz, or maybe it was the final desperate act of a woman who’d lost everything, but at this moment, she wanted nothing more than for him to kiss her. So she set confident, brazen Jay free. “Why did you promise? Did you owe Rob?”

“He was my best friend. You’re his sister,” he said, as if that explained everything. He shot her an exasperated look laced with longing and frustration.

“Why do you call me Jay? Does it make it easier for you to think of me as someone else?”

He opened his mouth, but then shook his head without answering.

She plowed on and gave him a flirty smile, running her fingertip along his collar. “Well, maybe you’d like to tell me what really happened—”

“Stop,” he murmured against her mouth, invading her personal space suddenly and without warning. He pressed his lips softly to hers, tugging at her lower lip. “Just stop.”

His warm hands stroked up and down her spine, bringing their bodies closer together with each pass. Her nipples peaked with the first brush of his chest. She wanted to rub against him like a cat.

Standing on her toes, Jenna reached for another taste. He met her halfway and slowly stole her breath with feather-soft kisses along her jaw and down her neck, sending tiny jolts of electricity across her skin. He returned to her mouth, licking and nibbling his way inside. She moaned when their tongues met, smooth and rough and eager. His hand slid down to her buttocks and urged her closer, rocking her against his growing erection. Oh, yeah, she was a goner.

With a low groan, he snatched her legs up by the thighs and wrapped them around his waist before staggering back to the futon. His heat and hardness pressed against her core and she writhed in his lap, drunk with desire. Her jeans needed to go now, but she didn’t want to stop to take them off.

“You’re so beautiful, so sexy.” He spoke in between kisses as he lightly dragged his fingers down her chest.

The way he made her feel, she could almost believe him. And, God, if he would just…she arched her back, pressing her breasts against his hands. He chuckled and obliged her unspoken request by covering them completely with his palms as he stroked her nipples with his thumbs. A little buzz started along her nerves and traveled from low in her belly out to her fingers and toes. Oh, yes. That was precisely what she wanted.

Until he whipped her shirt up and over her head, slipped a finger beneath the satin of her bra, and touched her bare skin. “Mmm, yeah.”
That
was what she wanted. Exactly that.

And then he unhooked her bra, skimming it down her arms. Leaning forward, he took a nipple into his mouth.

“Mmm…Mick.” She bit her lip at the exquisite pleasure, her hips jutting eagerly against his, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
This
was what she’d been waiting for.

Until he withdrew.

No,
please
. She grabbed his biceps. “Don’t stop.”

“Never.”

He captured her other breast in his mouth and licked until she thought she’d explode. She was a powder keg on fire, her fuse getting shorter by the second. Who needed control? Control was definitely overrated. Writhing in his lap as sensations hit her from everywhere at once, she completely gave in to him.

He owned her.

She wanted to own him too.

Running her hands down his sides, she found the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. He broke contact for just long enough to fling it across the room and then he lunged for her again, muscles rippling from his broad shoulders down to his abs.

His stomach jumped under her tentative touch, and he alternated his attention between her breasts, caressing them with his hands, his tongue. If not for the intense need to touch him, to feel his skin beneath her fingers, she would have been content to collapse as pleasure washed through her.

Sensations were building between her thighs, each wave tied to the pull of his mouth as if by a string. Suddenly she needed more. She wanted him inside her with a fierceness she’d never experienced. She kissed his forehead and skimmed her fingers along the waist of his jeans, dipping inside and beneath the elastic of his boxers.

“Jenna,” he whispered hoarsely. “You make me crazy.” He launched to his feet, still holding her, supporting her by her thighs, and kissed her hungrily as he swayed toward the bedroom.

For one brief moment, her body tightened. What the hell she was doing? This was Mick, reckless playboy, arrogant womanizer.

But this was her plan. She was finally going to get what she wanted.

He laid her on the bed and unbuttoned his jeans, his hungry gaze heating her skin to boiling. Who cared about the truth when the sexiest man alive wanted her?
Her
. Mousy, computer geek Jenna. Her throat went dry as he stripped bare and kneeled over her on the bed, the bad-boy tribal tattoo on his biceps dancing.

The reality was better than any fantasy she’d come up with while lying alone in his bed these last few nights.

He reached for the zipper on her pants. “Your turn,” he said.

Worries long forgotten, she lifted her hips in invitation.

Mick laid his hand on Jenna’s tight, flat stomach and traced the edge of her tattoo. This was crazy. This hot, sexy woman who melted when he caressed her was Jenna.
Jenna,
for God’s sake—Rob’s no-touch, hands-off little sister. But for the first time he didn’t care. And he couldn’t have stopped touching her if his life depended on it. In fact, he wanted to touch her everywhere.