The second my lips bumped into his, he’d startled awake and promptly put me away from him. He’d delivered a hasty, but genial grin, then wagged a finger.
Instead of giving me the brutal truth—that I was a pathetic little girl—the boy they’d ranked with Satan took pity on me. I was too good for him, he’d said.
But there was no pity in his eyes now as his gaze wandered my body. He may have killed my mother, may have even taken another life in prison, but I wasn’t afraid—not in the least. Dear God, had I become like those wretched women who got turned on by bad boys with blood-splattered pasts?
Fighting it, I looked away. “Please…stop.”
“Stop what?”
I drew a shallow breath. “This. What you’re doing.”
“What am I doin’, Shannon?” He anchored a forearm to the wall above my head. His left arm hung at his side.
I swallowed. “You’re trying to scare me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He looked me over again, and when he spoke, his voice came out deep and gravelly. “Right now, scaring you is the furthest thing from my mind.” He snagged a whiff of my perfume and inched closer. “Way I see it, I’ve politely asked you to leave, but you refused. So I’m left wondering what’s keeping you here. Can’t be my sunny disposition.”
His gaze traveled down my neck, to my chest, a chest that rose and fell in frantic succession. He spent a long time looking there…at my breasts.
I felt my nipples bead, felt my face burn. Embarrassed, I lowered my eyes, but that was a mistake. A full arousal tented his zipper.
He smiled. “See, I think you’re still here ‘cause somethin’s missing.”
“What?” I all but squeaked.
“Oh, I dunno. Maybe lover boy’s not cutting it in bed?”
Fury burned my cheeks. “How dare you.”
“Just an honest question. I’m curious.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“What? Your sex life?” He cocked his head and frowned. “Hell, do y’all even have one?” Before I could tell him to kiss my ass, he added, “Trust me. If he’s not getting it from you, he’s getting it somewhere.”
I seared him with a glare. “Your crudity is astounding.”
“I’m just giving you my humble opinion. Nothin’ more.”
“You don’t know the first thing about humility.”
“Really.”
“Yes, ‘really.’ You’re too full of yourself.”
A slow, wicked grin eased across his lips. “Maybe so. But I’d bet the farm you wouldn’t mind being full of me too.”
Scandalized, I shoved at him, but he just studied me with those piercing hazel eyes. He raised his hand to touch a wayward lock of hair that lay wilted against my neck. A bizarre mesh of outrage and longing stilled my heart while he twined the curl around his fingers. He examined it possessively, as if it were his right, as if he’d done it a million times.
I seized his hand to peel it away, but couldn’t. His electric touch stunned me, just as it had at the hospital and Home Depot. I’d shoved both episodes from my mind, hadn’t even allowed myself to ponder them till now.
Our attention drifted to our entwined flesh; to the golden hair coiled around his fingers; and to the small, slender fingers wrapped around his big hand. I noted the contrast of our skin tones—his dark, mine fair—and the heady sensation the contact elicited. In an instant, our eyes embraced.
Thoughts telegraphed and his Adam’s apple rode his throat. He worked his jaw as he expelled a breath through flared nostrils. I trembled once he licked his lips because there was no question of what had crossed his mind.
It had crossed mine too.
With our hands still linked, he stroked my cheek, then his bandaged knuckles slid from below my ear to my chin. He tilted my face to his and the heat from our mouths meshed together. His lips were millimeters away—so close I could taste the mint of his breath as it beckoned me nearer.
He anchored his free hand on the small of my back, and tugged me closer, causing me to gasp. We fit together like two halves of a torn piece of paper. The concrete bulge between his powerful legs stabbed into my stomach and his thighs were hard against my softness. There was fire in his eyes. Electricity in his touch. Heat in his breath. I was dying.
What are you doing? my mind screamed. Darien, remember?
Sanity returned. I propped a palm on his chest and exerted pressure. He blinked slowly after his gaze fell on my ring, pulling him as if from a trance. The gem caught the light spearing down from the ceiling. Once he untangled my hair from his fingers, I ducked beneath his arm and backed away.
“Damn,” he muttered, attention glued to the wall.
I shoved my bangs off my face. “I don’t like games.”
“You saying you didn’t want me to kiss you just now?”
I wasn’t sure what I’d wanted him to do, and that scared me the most. “You tried to use sex to—”
“Didn’t work though.”
I blinked several times. “So you admit it?”
“That I was seconds away from taking you up against this wall?” He gave a sharp nod. “Hell yeah, I admit it. Are you brave enough to admit you wanted me to?”
The power of speech left me. I didn’t know whose behavior disgusted me more, his or my own. Finally, I said, “Give this some thought. If Mother’s murder and twelve years couldn’t keep me away, why would your pathetic machinations?”
When his shoulders fell, I knew I had him. He hung his head and sighed. “What the hell do you want from me, Shannon?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pearly Gates
SHANNON
____________________________
The fan’s soft buzz echoed in the background for several heartbeats. It would take a while for the sensual haze to ebb, a while before my pulse stopped racing. I could still smell Trace’s minty breath, and his warm touch lingered on my skin. No doubt, these memories would have a long shelf life.
I wandered to the worktable and set my purse down. Gathering my thoughts wasn’t easy. My body still craved what my mind had forbidden. Even so, I forced myself to speak. “Ah….” I began, my voice annoyingly unsteady. I cleared my throat and tried again. “The first time I saw that…that wretched letter was a week ago. Someone sent it to the parole board right before your first hearing, but no one followed up with me. They assumed it was authentic.”
Trace pushed away from the wall and hopped on a stool. Dust trickled down while he rummaged through the row of tires above his head. He didn’t hide his arousal, as if traipsing around with an erection was commonplace.
I wouldn’t look south again.
My heart raced as I waited for him to speak, yet he said nothing, just continued to fiddle with those stupid tires. One unnerving minute passed, then another, with no acknowledgment from him, so I opened my mouth and decided to go for the jugular.
Thankfully, he cut me off.
“Okay,” he finally said, shouldering his eye as he tugged at two Dunlop tires. “Here’s my problem. Your deposition was pretty damn persuasive.” He tucked a tire under his arm. “You didn’t blink when you said I could’ve done it. Hell, you even had me going for a while.”
This wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind. Jeez. The day I’d made that tape was little more than a blur. All I remembered was the fear. Fear of the camera. Fear of everything.
“I thought we were talking about the letter,” I said. “Now you’re bringing this up? Why?”
“I’d be a fool not to.” He stepped down, set the tires by the Porsche, and went back for two more. When he finished, he grabbed a bandana to mop the grit from his hands. “You know what? I don’t even feel like dealing with this shit.” He balled the bandana up and stalked past me. The heat from his body fanned my face. “Just get out. I got work to do.”