Lady Killer (Tangled Desires Book 2) (11 page)

“What’s gotten your knickers in a twist? Talk to me, Gem.”

I’m too busy wrenching on the zip on my bag. I’d spent hours this afternoon weighing the pros and cons of staying versus leaving. I’d almost had myself convinced to tell him everything, to let the cards fall where they might, and hope that afterward he would still want whatever is forming between us. “Your girlfriend’s right out there,” I whisper through clenched teeth.

“Girlfriend?” He glances over his shoulder. “This is about Chelsea?” Then he bursts out laughing. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

“It’s not.” I cross my arms over my chest, frustrated by his reaction. Even if she isn’t his girlfriend there has to be something between them. They were so close, comfortable. “You were holding hands with her. She’s your girlfriend, and I’m what? A play thing?”

“You’re jealous of Chelsea.”

“Am not,” I snap back. “Only an idiot would think you could change your ways.” And I’m that idiot. Because I honestly had started to believe he wasn’t that guy anymore. Maybe he too prescribed to the theory that if you say something out loud enough times it comes true. But obviously in his case he’d said, ‘Hey come back to my place for a quick fuck,’ more often that he’d said, ‘I’ve given up sleeping around.’

“You are.” Shoving away from the door, he stalks toward me. “Admit it.”

“Never going to happen.”

“You can be so damn pig headed, you know that?” He takes my hands, pulling them away from my body and forcing me to stumble into him. “You won’t admit to anything. Cut a guy some slack already.”

“Get your hands off me.” I sputter, even as the warmth of him seeps into me, soothing the bristling under my skin with his touch. I try to push him away, but he’s immovable. A fucking man mountain, intent on crushing my resistance.

“Chelsea,” he yells out. “Gem thinks you’re my girlfriend because we were holding hands.”

Laughter. Sharp, loud, and getting louder as it moves up the hallway toward us, follows his statement. “Are you freaking kidding me? That’s. Wow. I think that’s the most amusing thing I’ve heard all week.” She stops in the doorway.

I dart a glance between them. He’s so damn gorgeous, and so is she. I’m hard pressed to believe they both have the same reaction to the idea of something between them. “You’re not?”

“I’m not even a girl as far as he’s concerned.” She shrugs, her arms crossed over her belly.

“She’s my best friend,” he says. “Like another pain in the ass sister.”

“Do you hold hands with your sister?” I snap, embarrassed by their lack of reaction. Maybe I had read the situation wrong. I miss my sister so much it hurts. I’d do anything to hold her hand for a moment the way he did with his—with Chelsea. Maybe before I was forced to keep away from my own family I would have thought it strange, but now it makes him that little bit more charming.

“Sometimes.” He shrugs. “We’re a close knit family. All of us. Including Chelsea.”

“Nice to meet you. Gem, right? I’m Chelsea.” She smiles. “Welcome to the family.”

I’m flabbergasted. I’ve just thrown a hissy fit over this woman who is as much like a sister to him as his actual sister, and she takes it in stride, being nice to me anyway. ““T-thank you. That’s right. I mean, glad to meet you too.”

“I’m going to head home,” she says to Tom. “Before Mace gets back. I’m not really in the mood for any more of his opinionated bullshit today. Sometimes your brother can be so damn arrogant.”

“He does your head in.” Tom chuckles. “Looks like you’re stuck with him though. In with one Hadley, in with ‘em all.”

“I liked it better when he wasn’t living here.” Chelsea smiles and winks at me. “This one is all yours.”

Then she’s gone.

All mine?
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to deal with my reaction to him holding hands with another girl. That it makes me want to deck her even now.

The silence is kind of awkward with him staring at me, his gaze penetrating. I fidget with the ends of my hair. Yeah, such a smart move, giving away how insecure I am right now.

All mine.
Do I even want that?

“Stake your claim on me, Gem, and I promise the only girl’s hand I’ll be holding from now on is yours.” He crosses his heart. “Not even my sister’s.”

I want to tell him he’s all mine. That that’s what I want. It’s not so easy to get the words out. So I say something else instead. “Have you ever heard of Castle ice cream?”

“Huh?” He does a double take, shrugs, then takes a step toward me.

“It’s in pretty much every grocery store. There are parlors all over the country.”

“I’ve heard of it.” This time when he takes my hand, I don’t try to push him away.

“Do you like it?” Oh God, I’m babbling. This isn’t really important. It’s small talk. I’m nervous. Trembling, actually, while he brings me flush against his body and threads his fingers through my hair above the ponytail holder. Strong fingers massaging my scalp and sending pleasure ricocheting through to other, more interesting areas.

“They have a pecan fudge flavor.” He winks. “Don’t think it has any chocolate.”

“It doesn’t.” His other hand slides down my lower back, grasps my ass, his grip tense, while his hardness rests low against my belly.

Of their own accord my hands seek out his chest, distracting me. “What was I saying?”

“I think you’re trying to admit that you like the idea of me being all yours.”

“Oh,” I manage to get out, but then his mouth is on mine, and I can’t even breathe, let alone unravel the thoughts all tangled up in my mind while his tongue does some seriously impressive tricks with mine. I bet he could tie all kinds of things into knots with it. Cherry stems, gummy snakes, my panties. Heaven knows it’s working on my insides. Clinging to him, my mind is going blank over those sure, slow strokes that feel so much like he’s using my mouth the way he wants to use my body.

When his mouth finds my neck, the slight prickle of all day growth rasps against my skin, making me shiver. “The girl.”

“What girl?” he murmurs against my throat while his hand slides from my hair and down the dips of my spine to hike up my top just enough that his fingers can trace the line of skin along the waistband of my denim skirt. “The only girl I see is you.”

“On the ice cream tub.” Holy crap. He pulls my leg up around his hip, and I clamp it there as he lifts me easily. Then he’s got his mouth on the sliver of skin at the collar of my shirt, and I’m arching into him. My nipples are puckered and aching, begging for his attention. I’m wet and needy and writhing against him, and he’s taking his time devouring me when all I want is more. “My sister, Kaylea, is on the label.”

“It should have been you. So fucking pretty and sweet.”

“Castle is my last name.” I manage to get out between a sharp intake of breath and the keening whimper that follows when he presses his fingers to my slit.

“I know,” he says. “Mace traced the gun. Still don’t know who you’re running from. Still don’t know if I’m all alone here, princess.”

How can he even question that when my body responds to his slightest caress like he’s oxygen and I’ll die without it? “I’m no princess.”

Laughing, he lowers me to the ground, presses me back until I tumble onto the bed. “I’m pretty sure you are.”

Then he’s on his knees at the end of the bed, hiking my skirt up, and pulling my panties away. His hands slide up the inside of my thighs, parting them to his gaze. Not that they don’t open willingly. Not that I don’t want to be wide open for him, at least in any way I can be. Goosebumps break out as he tickles the underside of my knee. Then he’s travelling his fingers higher, up to where I want him the most. I can barely contain my need. I want his hands on me so bad, claiming my body for his pleasure. My lips are dry and I have to dart my tongue out to wet them while my body begs for him, like I’ve never been touched before, like I might die if he doesn’t hurry up.

A gentle brush of his thumb over my clit has me rising from the bed. The second swipe is more insistent, demanding. I’d say he had magic fucking fingers if I didn’t know how honed his skills were. It should disgust me, but it doesn’t because his attention is focused fully on my face and I’m not looking at the same guy I saw in the ring so many times. He’s right when he talks about himself as two different people. The warmth in his gaze, the subtle concentration that has his lips pressed together aren’t trademarked. Then he looks down, spreads my pussy with his fingers and licks his lips. “So fucking pretty.”

I almost laugh. I find the idea of someone calling my pussy pretty so funny, that when he dips a finger inside me the sound that comes out of me is a hodgepodge of strangled giggle and harsh, feral want. I scramble for purchase on the bed cover as he works me, but I want more, need more. I need him stamped all over my body. I’m grinding onto him, unable to summon any control while he drives me wild.

His gaze is dark, intense, and then he dips it to where his finger is sliding in and out of me. “You’re perfect. So fucking wet for me.”

A growl rolls in his chest, and I don’t have a second to take it in, because his mouth is between my legs, and it’s all I can do to bite my lip while he grinds his face into my pussy, licking and sucking. His tongue is everywhere, all over me, inside me, devouring me. I arch back, my hips lifting, bringing me tighter into his mouth while I shatter on a cry that leaves me feeling disembodied, my muscles clenching around him as I cum.

“I need you,” I say dragging him up to me, tasting myself on his lips. I’ve had the most amazing orgasm of my life, and it isn’t enough. I’m beginning to think it will never be enough.

There’s a look in his eyes. All wild animal and scorching desire. Like he’d do anything to consume me, but his control is absolute. “Tell me, pretty girl. Does a guy like me have a chance with your heart?”

He shouldn’t. A guy like him is bound to break it. Something tells me that would be worse than every break and strain I’ve suffered over the years. I’m not going to lie. I think he already has it. So it’s not like I can protect it from him anyway.

Curling up, I take his face in my hands. The weight of him makes the mattress sink beneath us. His lean, hard body over mine and the shameless rock of his erection against my thigh is spectacular. Fireworks burst in my core, sensation ricocheting through every fiber of my being, and he isn’t even touching me, other than his vise-like grip on my hip as he presses his hardness against me and groans. There’s something amazing about the way he grinds into me fully clothed, when he could so easily be inside me.

“You want me,” I say.

“Want you, pretty girl?” His breath comes fast. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m dry-humping your leg for fuck’s sake.”

“You could be inside me.” I want him there, want to feel him where I’m most needy.

“I could be. You’d let me have you anywhere, any way I want, wouldn’t you?”

“Anyway you want,” I agree, reaching between us to snag the waist of his shorts and try to yank them free from his hips. Desperate for him to do whatever it is he wants to me.

He catches my hand in his. Stops my attack on his clothing. “Not until you tell me what I want to know.”

Not until I tell him what? I wrack my brain while his thumb settles on my oversensitive clit, rubbing, rubbing, until I’m burning for him. Again. Wave after wave of heat radiating out from that point. I cry out, muffling my whimpers against his shoulder as my body starts to convulse, while he plays me perfectly, his hardness butting against my core. “Please. I want you.”

“How much?” he grinds out, while he drags me up, up, and over. Black spots swim in front of my eyes. “How much of me do you want?”

“Everything.”

Then he holds me, neither of us scrambling to move away from each other. After several terse heartbeats, he begins to cover my skin with his mouth. Taking his sweet-ass time savoring me. I don’t even know if he came. Or if what happened was all for me.

Guilt floods me at having accepted his friendship, of forming any kind of attachment to the man without truly warning him. Not telling him about Santiago is no longer an option.

“His name is Jimmy Santiago. I was with him for a couple months. Most of that time just trying to work out how to get away.”

His mouth halts, murmuring a butterfly’s caress to my skin. “He was abusive?”

“He tried to get in my head, to break me, but he was mixed up in some unsavory things. Criminal things, so I knew if I just waited, I’d be able to get something I could use against him. The physical was worse, to be honest.” I finger the scar on my cheek, where the ring he’d been wearing when he hit me sliced through the skin. I’d been distraught when it happened. For months afterward, the damn red welt made me cringe every time I saw it. But now it’s a reminder to keep going.

Tom’s brow furrows, his eyes crinkling around the corners as he lifts his head to stare at me, his arms tense around me, his hands clenching. His jaw sharpens like marble.

“You know him?” I ask, trying to soothe him with my hands, with the lightest of tones even while my heart pounds and a sinking feeling gains momentum in my belly.

“We trained together. Fought one another a few times.”