Want Me (5 page)

He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t want the quick thrill of touching a woman like her.

He wanted her.

For fucking keeps.

He lifted her up against him and his mouth took hers. There was no restraint. No gentleness. No holding back. He was too far gone for that, and he knew that she was, too.

He feasted on her as they staggered to the bed. His hands roamed over her back, down to the lush curve of her ass. The silk of her underwear was in his way, and he wanted that scrap gone. He wanted her, just her.

He put her on the bed. Right in the middle of that king-sized bed. He’d fantasized about her there so many times.

He’d done this—pushed too much, and now they were both going up in flames. He should stop, he should—

“Stop now, and we’ll both be sorry,” Sophie said.

Her legs were spread and his gaze couldn’t leave the apex of her thighs. He dropped right there. Fell to his knees by the edge of the bed and yanked her toward him. Her legs slid against his shoulders and he put his mouth against her sex. The lace grew wet—from his mouth, from her, and her sharp moan was perfect music to his ears. She arched toward him, slamming her hips up, and his fingers jerked that scrap out of his way so that he could taste her.

She always smelled like strawberries, but she tasted far,
far
sweeter. He licked her. He sucked. He thrust his index finger into Sophie and made her moan again. He loved the wild pant of her breath. Lex was going insane for her taste and—

She came against his mouth. Hell,
yes.

He surged up. Because he was damn lucky, he managed to yank open his jeans and actually get a condom on in near record time. There were no more preliminaries. There was nothing but her. He drove deep into Sophie, and the contractions of her release immediately had her sex clenching tightly around him.

Tight. Tight. She is so fucking tight.

So good that he nearly exploded right then. His hands fisted on the covers because he was actually afraid of touching her. Afraid he’d be too rough and bruise her because he was that far gone. He leaned over that bed, and he drove into her. Hard. Deep. Again and again, and her legs rose to wrap around him.

He needed to see her breasts. One hand yanked at her bra, and the material seemed to tear away. Her breasts—with pretty pink nipples—thrust up toward him. He took one in his mouth, and Sophie’s sex clenched around him again. Hot damn, but he thought she was building toward another orgasm. He wanted to get her there before he gave in to the climax building for him.

He thrust again. He lifted her hips, positioning her so that his cock slid over her clit. When her nails bit into his shoulders, he knew she liked that—a lot. So he thrust again, gliding right over that sensitive spot even as he sank balls-deep into her.

She jerked beneath him, gasping out his name as she came. The contractions of her sex sent him right over the edge—over and into a volcano of pleasure. Hot, consuming, perfect. He shuddered and emptied himself in her.

When the pleasure finally started to wane—because those waves kept coming in slow bursts—he lifted his head. Her eyes were open. On him. So blue.

Once? He was supposed to be satisfied with one night with her?

No damn way.

Clark Eastbridge didn’t normally visit prisoners at night. He didn’t normally pull strings to get special treatment. It just wasn’t his way.

But this wasn’t a normal situation.

He waited, his foot tapping a bit nervously, as the guard brought the prisoner to him.

The overhead lights glinted off Daniel Duvato’s red hair. The guy was dressed in the usual orange prison garb, and a dark line of stubble covered Duvato’s jaw. When he saw that Clark was waiting for him, the guy’s eyes narrowed in fury.

“Not the freaking ADA again.” Duvato jutted up his chin. “Not supposed to talk with you unless my lawyer is here!”

Right, that was the drill. And that was also why—

The door burst open. Phil Dunnway rushed into the room, suit rumpled, tie unknotted. “Don’t say a word!” Phil blasted to his client. “If there’s a deal on the table, I want to hear it.”

Christ. Clark shook his head. “This is a courtesy visit, nothing more. Nothing less.” It was a visit that he was already seriously regretting. But after that near accident with Sophie right outside of the courthouse, he’d just had to pay a visit to Duvato. “There’s been a threat against you, Mr. Duvato.”

The guy just laughed. Another asshole with a god complex. The fellow probably thought he was bulletproof, even in jail.

“A man has threatened to kill you, Mr. Duvato,” Clark continued doggedly. “I wanted you to know—”

“I’m locked up!” A guard had shoved Daniel into the chair across from Clark. Daniel lifted his cuffed hands and pointed toward the guard. “I got these bozos around me twenty-four, seven. I don’t think I have to worry about any threats.”

Actually, he did. Jail hits were all too common. Anyone could be taken out, anywhere, if the price was right.

“Wait, wait!” Phil leaned forward, slapping his briefcase on the table in front of Duvato. “Is this threat credible? Is my client in danger?” He puffed up his chest. “Because if so, I want him moved to a new facility, immediately!”

Yes, he’d kind of thought that might be the guy’s plan. “I don’t know if the threat is credible yet.”

Phil frowned. “Who made the threat?”

That was where this got interesting. With his gaze on Duvato, Clark said, “Sophie Sarantos was attacked last night.”

Daniel leapt to his feet. The guard instantly shoved him back down. When his cuffed hands hit the table, they collided with Phil’s briefcase. The briefcase tumbled off the edge of the table, and Phil hurried to collect the spilled contents.

Sophie’s briefcase had spilled, too. Notes had been all across that road.
But Sophie had been all right.

“A man broke into her home. He told her that he was going to kill you. Sophie reported the threat to me. She wanted to make sure you were safe.” Which made no damn sense to him, considering that Duvato had tried to kill Sophie.

“Is she okay?” Duvato asked, and some of the hard bravado had actually left his face.

Clark could only shake his head. “You tried to kill her, and now you want to know if someone else hurt her?”

Duvato tried to rise again. And, again, the guard shoved him right back down.

“I liked Sophie. Always did,” Duvato gritted out. “What I did…it had to be done. It was the only way to punish Ethan.”

Right. Ethan Barclay. Clark held no love for that SOB. He’d been trying to nail the guy for crimes, hell, for years. But Barclay was too good at covering his tracks.

With Sophie’s help, no doubt. He’d long suspected she and Ethan were lovers.

“The cop told me there would be no deal,” Duvato said suddenly. “That lady detective…”

Faith Chestang. Yes, Clark knew her. She’d been the one to run lead on Duvato’s case.

“But she’s friends with Ethan. Another cop on the take with him. So she doesn’t want to hear what I’ve got to say about my ex-boss.” Duvato’s eyes gleamed. “You want to hear what I got to say? Because I’d sure like to see him tossed into a cell right beside mine.”

He hadn’t come there for a deal. He’d gone there to give Duvato a warning. But now…
Maybe I can put that bastard Barclay away.
“I might be interested,” Clark allowed.

Phil surged forward. “No! Not yet!” He held his briefcase in front of him like it was some kind of shield. “I have to speak with my client first. I need to know just what kind of evidence he’s got. That way I can see—”

Clark waved his hand, cutting through Phil’s words. “You want to see just what you can get. Well, here, I’ll save you some trouble. I’ll tell you what I want. I want enough evidence to convict Ethan Barclay—not for a year, not for two years.” That just wouldn’t cut it. “I want to make sure he won’t be a threat to anyone else ever again, do you understand? So don’t jerk me around. Give me something real, and in return, I’ll try to make sure that the next twenty years aren’t a complete living hell for Duvato.”

Then Clark marched for the door. “I’ll be back at nine a.m. Either you’ll have evidence for me or there will never be talk of another deal again.” Because he already had Duvato dead to rights, thanks to a confession the guy had given while in custody. But to get Ethan Barclay? Oh, hell, he might just bend a few rules.

“What about the threat?” Phil called after him.

Clark glanced back at the lawyer’s question.

“Is my client in danger?”

Clark turned his stare on Duvato. “You want extra guards?”

Duvato smiled. “They’ll only get in my way.”

Right. Whatever. He motioned to the officer on the other side of the door. The guy hurried and had him out in seconds. Clark was striding down the long corridor when Duvato’s words finally sank in…

They’ll only get in my way.

Those words didn’t really make sense. Not unless…

Unless the bastard was planning something.

Clark stilled.

An escape attempt? Impossible. But…

Phil’s briefcase had spilled. Duvato’s hands had reached for that case.
Had he grabbed some kind of weapon from it? Hell, to a desperate prisoner, even a pen could be a weapon. Jab it into your victim’s neck and—

“Guards!” Clark bellowed as he whirled back toward the interrogation area. “Guards—secure the prisoner! Secure him now!”

The officer who’d just let Clark out was already rushing inside that little room.

But the sinking feeling in Clark’s throat told him it was too late. He ran inside.

Blood. So much blood.

Phil was on the ground, twitching. The guard who’d led Duvato into interrogation was on the floor, too, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, his body far too still.

Duvato was still leaning over Phil. The lawyer was alive—his chest shuddering and—

“Get away from him!” Clark bellowed.

The guard who’d rushed in right before Clark had frozen. The man’s weapon was out, and Clark knew the guy was seconds away from shooting Duvato.

Duvato’s right hand was fisted around what looked like—shit, it
was
—a bloody pen. A damn fountain pen. Clark looked down at Phil. The lawyer was shoving his fingers against the hole in his throat, a hole that still heavily pulsed blood.

“Told you…” Duvato said, “I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself .”

Shoot him.
The words were on the tip of Clark’s tongue. He knew he was staring at evil. At evil that had to be stopped. Only…

Duvato dropped the pen. “I still want that deal, ADA. I’ve got plenty to stay to you about Ethan Barclay. Plenty.” He laughed and he put his blood-covered hands up as more guards swarmed into the room.

He just killed a man. An officer of the law. And he thinks I’ll still deal with him?

The world really would be better off with Daniel Duvato dead.

I should have given the fucking order.

***

When Sophie opened her eyes, Lex was beside her. His blond hair was mussed, tousled from her fingers, and his eyes were closed. He looked peaceful in sleep. But then, most people did. She was one of the few that nightmares always haunted.

Sunlight trickled through the curtains. Another day had come. But this was the first day she’d ever woken with a lover beside her. She didn’t usually let anyone sleep with her because Sophie was just always worried. Afraid that she might let the wrong words slip during the night.

Thanks to Ethan, she’d learned that she talked in her sleep.

The things she said in sleep could incriminate her.

Another reason not to let a lover get too close. But Lex was close. So close that his arm was wrapped around her stomach even then. So close that her hip touched him. So close that she felt totally protected by his warmth and strength.

So close that she knew it was time she slipped away. So Sophie pulled in a careful breath and she began to inch to the left side of the bed, the side that promised freedom. She was completely naked and that just made her feel even more vulnerable. She’d slip away, go find the bag of clothes that they’d picked up from her place the night before, and then she’d face him feeling far more
normal.
She would—

“I don’t want you to leave.”

His eyes opened. There was none of the drowsy confusion that should have been present. He just opened his eyes and focused completely on her.

Unnerving.

Dammit, sexy. Why did she find so much about him to be sexy? Was it because he’d saved her life—twice? And now she had some kind of hero issue going on with him?

“You’re even more beautiful first thing in the morning.”

Okay, so maybe he had woken confused. She was sure her hair was a crazy tangle. And any makeup that she’d had on the day before would be long gone.

But he was still staring right at her and he made her feel beautiful in that moment. Part of her wanted to smile at him. To roll back toward him and sink fully into his embrace.

But her world didn’t work like that. She’d given in to her need the night before. The day had dawned. “I need to get to work. I have clients who’ll be waiting to see me today.” Did she sound suitably in control?

In control.
That was the role she always had to play. Even when she wanted to give up the mask, just for a little while.

Screw control.

She lifted his hand off her stomach. There were calluses on his fingers. She’d felt them when he caressed her last night. Those caresses had been so thorough. Inside and out.

She pretty much quivered thinking about some of them.

Lex definitely wasn’t a selfish lover. The guy was so sensual. So fierce. So wonderfully focused.

He was probably the best lover she’d ever had.

“Running?” Lex asked her as she rolled from the bed. Sophie pulled the sheet with her, wrapping it around her body.

“No, just slowly walking…heading to the bathroom and then to find my clothes.”

He sat up. Lex didn’t seem to care that he was completely naked. With the sunlight hitting him, she saw the scars on his chest. White ridges. Red lines. From his time in the military?

Lex watched her, his gaze unfathomable. “Still don’t trust me, do you?”

Not even a little bit. Well, maybe a little.

She turned and made her way to the bathroom. Her steps were a bit too fast for normal walking but being naked with Lex wasn’t a good idea. Because when she was naked, when he was naked…she wanted to jump him.

Instead, she shut the bathroom door. Then she locked it. When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see her controlled image staring back at her. She saw a woman with eyes that were too big. Lips that were too red. Skin that was flushed.

She looked like she’d just had an amazing night.

She had.

And I didn’t worry about being alone in the dark. Because I wasn’t alone. I had Lex. I wasn’t afraid. I just felt. So much pleasure.

He rapped on the door and Sophie jumped. Her right hand slapped against the countertop even as her left kept the sheet from falling to a puddle at her feet.

“Sophie?” Lex called out. “I brought your bag in for you.”

Oh. That was nice. Thoughtful.

Not at all what a dangerous and wild lover would do.

Or was it? She’d never shared a morning after with the others so she wasn’t real sure what they would have done.

Sophie opened the door. Lex stood there, her bag gripped in his hand. He lifted his brows at her. “It was your step two, right? Get to the bathroom, then get your clothes.”

Her right hand grabbed for the bag. “Thank you.”

He didn’t move. “Sooner or later, I’ll get you to trust me.”

“Why?” She just didn’t understand. “I’m paying you for the job, so nothing else really…”

Her voice trailed away.

Uh, oh.
She could tell by the way his oh-so-muscled shoulders had just stiffened that she’d screwed up.

“Don’t talk to me about payment.” A muscle flexed in his hard jaw. “What happened between us last night had nothing to do with payment. It had
everything
to do with desire. With the freaking uncontrollable desire that I feel for you.”

She had a death grip on her bag.

“And that you feel for me.” His glittering gaze held her stare.

I do feel that desire for you.

“Get dressed, Sophie. Feel safer when you have your clothes on.”

She, um, would.

“Then come find me. Because we’ve got a whole lot of talking to do.” He spun on his heel. Took a step forward.

The light hit his back then. The pure sunlight. It fell on that powerful expanse and showed her all of the marks that he carried. Old marks…scars. They were faint white lines now, and, during the night, when it had been so dark, she’d never seen those marks. She hadn’t felt them beneath her fingertips because they weren’t raised. They were flat, smooth now from time.

And there were so many of them. Dozens.

She forgot about holding her sheet. Forgot about keeping her perfect mask of control. Her bag—and the sheet—fell as she lunged after him. Her trembling fingers touched his back.

Beaten. He was beaten.
She knew exactly how he’d gotten those marks that covered so much of his back. “Who?” Sophie asked, her voice coming out angry and hard. These marks were so old. Had he gotten them when he was a child?