Grier squeezed his arm and brought him back to the here-and-now. “That newspaper article,” she said. “The one from five years ago. Who was responsible for the body in the ditch?”
“I didn’t kill him.”
But he’d heard about the death—and provided Matthias with his wallet and a set of clothes without asking a whole lot of questions. And as soon as he’d turned over those markers of his life, he’d walked into the XOps fold and disappeared. Leaving his family had been an easy thing to do. His father had been raising five hellacious boys on the farm by himself and one less was a blessing to that bunch of Neanderthals. Plus he and his old man had never gotten along.
Which was why, when he’d gone AWOL, he’d used his own name on the fake ID he’d bought. No one was looking for him from back home—and he sure as shit hadn’t planned on getting arrested. But the thing was, if he was starting over, he wanted to return to the person he’d been before Matthias had come along. So stupid, though. No label was going to get him back to that place and time, and nothing was going to erase the past five years.
What he needed was forgiveness.
Abruptly, Grier’s face came into sharp focus. God, her eyes were clear. And smart.
And so beautiful.
“Grier . . .” The sound of her name on his lips was hungry even to his own ears. Hungry and desperate.
“Yes . . .”
That was so not a question, he thought. It was an answer . . . but, man, it was the wrong one.
Pulling himself out from under her palm, he tried to derail what was happening between them. “I think you’d better go.”
She cleared her throat. “Yes. I should.”
Neither of them moved.
“Go,” he told her. “Now.”
When she turned away, he crossed his free arm over his chest to keep himself from grabbing her and pulling her into him.
And she didn’t go nearly far enough, as it turned out. She stopped in the doorway, the light from the hall hitting her profile and drawing over her perfect features ever so gently.
She deserved that kind of carefulness in a lover, he thought.
But he was too raw, too needy . . . too starved to be tender with her.
As she stood on the threshold, with the hand that had been on him gripping the doorknob, her hold tightened until her knuckles went white.
“What’s wrong,” he said in a voice so deep it nearly disappeared.
Stupid goddamn question.
Especially as he traced the curve of her breast with his eyes and wanted to do the same with his mouth.
“Have you ever wanted something you shouldn’t?” she asked.
Fucking hell. He had half a chance at resisting her if it was all one-sided—namely, his: There was nothing like telling yourself you were a nasty bastard to get a choke hold on your libido. But if he’d woken up in some parallel universe where she somehow wanted him that badly, too?
They were both screwed—even without the sex part.
“Have you?” she demanded.
“Yes, ma’am.” Like right now.
Now her voice was as husky as his. “What did you do?”
I took two steps forward and turned her around by the hips. I yanked her in tight and then I kissed her for about a minute and a half before I stripped her naked from the waist down. After I got on my knees, I threw one of her legs over my shoulder and worked her with my mouth until she came all over my tongue and—
“I walked away.” His throat was so tight the reply was strangled. “I walked away and I didn’t look back.”
Her shoulders straightened as if she’d resolved herself. “Very smart.”
He released his breath, relieved that she wasn’t as insane as he was feeling—
When she shut the door, she was on his side of it. And then she came at him through the darkness, drifting over like a shadow . . . and bypassing him to go lie on the bed.
Isaac couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think. But he could move.
Damn right, he could move.
All that let’s-be-smart went right out the window as he approached and loomed over her, seeing her pale skin against the dark navy sheets. She’d stretched out in the place he’d warmed not from some cozy-ass dream, but in his exertions to get away from his nightmare. And didn’t that remind him of what they were both going to wake up to.
“You sure about this?” he asked in a guttural voice. “I get down on that mattress right now, I’m not stopping until I’m inside of you.”
He meant every word.
And as she opened her mouth, he cut her off. “Make sure you give me an answer you can live with. Because what happens now will not change tomorrow.”
“I know. And you have my answer. Right here.”
With that, she pulled her T-shirt over her head and lay back down.
CHAPTER 19
Grier couldn’t draw a breath as the cool air hit her bare breasts and her nipples tightened up on a quick sting of pleasure—although her body’s response was more from the way his hot eyes latched onto her than the temperature.
And yet she had to wait for him to speak, move, do something . . . anything—
He dropped the sweatshirt.
A gasp sucked down her throat.
Male. Animal. That was all that came to her.
She hadn’t seen a lot of men naked, but she was very sure the number could have been a hundred thousand and none of them would have compared to Isaac Rothe: He was built heavy in the shoulders and the chest, and tight in the stomach and hips . . . and fully erect?
His sex more than lived up to the rest of him.
He came down to her through the inky darkness, sliding in against her, his body harder and bigger than her eyes had let on, her breasts cushioning his pecs as his weight settled on top of her.
God, he smelled good.
And damn her, she was panting to have him.
His hand burrowed in, going under her waist, pulling her even tighter into those strong, strong arms of his. And as they drew up hip to hip, the boxers she had on were no barrier at all to the blunt head of him pushing at her core—which was so very ready for him.
“Oh, God—”
He cut her off, his mouth finding hers and taking her lips like he owned her. He kissed her with none of the awkward first-time stuff she was used to; there was nothing hesitant or polite or tentative at alclass="underline" Isaac kissed her like he meant to have her, and she was ready to be taken.
She’d never wanted anything this badly before.
Abruptly, he rolled over onto his back and took her with him until she was sprawled across his body. Splitting her legs, she straddled his hips and he cursed as she settled on his arousal and rode him up and back, stroking them both. As she moaned, his tongue slipped into her and she dragged her hands down to his lower half, feeling the curling of his muscles as he pushed rhythmically against her.
Before she could touch him, though, he was shifting her up his body, his mouth on her neck, then her collarbone, then—
He latched onto one of her nipples, the hot, wet suction throwing her into a wild arch that nearly cracked her spine. To stay in control of her, his hands dug into her hips and held her steady—and she needed it as he dragged his tongue over her and then resumed the tugging pull.
“I want to be naked,” she moaned. “I want—”
He was right on that, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of the boxers and moving them south. She rose up to help him and had to shamble around to dismount him and get the things down . . . because his mouth was still at work, sticking with her, moving to her other breast, nipping and then sucking again.