bed.
“Eventually.”
He wasn’t looking at me and seemed to have dismissed me entirely as he removed his holster.
He cared enough to have a doctor come by a hotel, but didn’t appear to want to coddle me. It was a little strange, the distance I felt him putting between us. I didn’t know why, but I could guess well enough. My dreaded suspicions about what would happen if I became a tedious inconvenience to Devon—if my drawbacks outweighed my benefits—had come true. And there wasn’t sex good enough to draw him back to me once he’d made up his mind.
Well then, so be it. It was what it was and nothing I said was going to change it. Besides, I had a little pride left—although that was one thing Devon could strip me of so easily. I wasn’t going to beg again. I’d begged for this relationship, and look what it had gotten me.
I shucked my jeans but left on Scott’s shirt, then climbed underneath the covers. By now, Devon had stripped down to his slacks. I rested my head on the pillow and admired the view of his naked back and chest, dotted with bullet wound scars and a couple of knife slices that were thin, white lines. His muscles were even more well defined than Scott’s and the veins in his arms stood out in stark relief underneath his skin.
“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”
I jerked my gaze from his washboard abs up to his face. He was staring at my chest.
“What?” I asked, glancing down. Did I have something on me?
“You’re not wearing his clothes to bed with me,” he said flatly. “Take it off.”
I looked at him, my eyes narrowing. “No.” Scott had been good to me. I felt safe with him. Wearing his shirt was almost like holding a teddy bear or something. It comforted me.
Devon stepped closer. “I said, take it off.”
“What do you care if I wear his clothes?” I asked. “I don’t haveto do what you tell me to.” My temper was flaring now and I glared at him.
The air between us fairly crackled with energy. Our eyes were locked together and I could tell by his tightly coiled muscles that he was angry. Not that I cared. He’d use and discard me, and then what would I have? Nothing and no one. Why should I let that happen?
“Oh yes, you do,” he growled. He stood right next to the bed, almost close enough for me to touch.
I could smell him, his warm scent that was spice and musk and danger all rolled into one. In spite of myself, I could feel the flesh between my thighs begin to ache, pulsing with a familiar need.
“Make me.”
He sprang before I could react, his hands catching hold of my waist and pushing me flat onto my back. He was on his knees, his body caging me from above. Before I could spit a retort at him, he was kissing me, and I forgot what I was going to say. His tongue pushed between my lips, demanding a response.
I hated and loved him in equal measure—I hated that he could bend me to his will, but I loved him for it, too. It confused me, so I shoved my emotions aside and turned off my brain.
I kissed him back with equal urgency, my fingers buried in his hair. He jerked the shirt open to bare my breasts, buttons flying off, then slid down to take a nipple in his mouth. I moaned in response, the wet heat of his tongue against my skin sending a bolt of pure pleasure through me, but then suddenly he pulled back.
Befuddled and aroused, I watched him push himself off the bed. His gaze was hungry and I felt it like an invisible touch on my skin, but then he abruptly turned away.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Why’d you stop?”
“You’ve been hurt and terrorized,” he said curtly. “You should be lobbing sharp objects at my head, not kissing me.” He shoved ahand through his hair, then went to the table in the corner where a half-empty bottle of gin sat. He poured a healthy shot into a glass and tossed it back in one swallow.
I watched him. Devon ran so hot and cold on me from one minute to the next, though I didn’t think it was a bad
“Eventually.”
He wasn’t looking at me and seemed to have dismissed me entirely as he removed his holster.
He cared enough to have a doctor come by a hotel, but didn’t appear to want to coddle me. It was a little strange, the distance I felt him putting between us. I didn’t know why, but I could guess well enough. My dreaded suspicions about what would happen if I became a tedious inconvenience to Devon—if my drawbacks outweighed my benefits—had come true. And there wasn’t sex good enough to draw him back to me once he’d made up his mind.
Well then, so be it. It was what it was and nothing I said was going to change it. Besides, I had a little pride left—although that was one thing Devon could strip me of so easily. I wasn’t going to beg again. I’d begged for this relationship, and look what it had gotten me.
I shucked my jeans but left on Scott’s shirt, then climbed underneath the covers. By now, Devon had stripped down to his slacks. I rested my head on the pillow and admired the view of his naked back and chest, dotted with bullet wound scars and a couple of knife slices that were thin, white lines. His muscles were even more well defined than Scott’s and the veins in his arms stood out in stark relief underneath his skin.
“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”
I jerked my gaze from his washboard abs up to his face. He was staring at my chest.
“What?” I asked, glancing down. Did I have something on me?
“You’re not wearing his clothes to bed with me,” he said flatly. “Take it off.”
I looked at him, my eyes narrowing. “No.” Scott had been good to me. I felt safe with him. Wearing his shirt was almost like holding a teddy bear or something. It comforted me.
Devon stepped closer. “I said, take it off.”
“What do you care if I wear his clothes?” I asked. “I don’t haveto do what you tell me to.” My temper was flaring now and I glared at him.
The air between us fairly crackled with energy. Our eyes were locked together and I could tell by his tightly coiled muscles that he was angry. Not that I cared. He’d use and discard me, and then what would I have? Nothing and no one. Why should I let that happen?
“Oh yes, you do,” he growled. He stood right next to the bed, almost close enough for me to touch.
I could smell him, his warm scent that was spice and musk and danger all rolled into one. In spite of myself, I could feel the flesh between my thighs begin to ache, pulsing with a familiar need.
“Make me.”
He sprang before I could react, his hands catching hold of my waist and pushing me flat onto my back. He was on his knees, his body caging me from above. Before I could spit a retort at him, he was kissing me, and I forgot what I was going to say. His tongue pushed between my lips, demanding a response.
I hated and loved him in equal measure—I hated that he could bend me to his will, but I loved him for it, too. It confused me, so I shoved my emotions aside and turned off my brain.
I kissed him back with equal urgency, my fingers buried in his hair. He jerked the shirt open to bare my breasts, buttons flying off, then slid down to take a nipple in his mouth. I moaned in response, the wet heat of his tongue against my skin sending a bolt of pure pleasure through me, but then suddenly he pulled back.
Befuddled and aroused, I watched him push himself off the bed. His gaze was hungry and I felt it like an invisible touch on my skin, but then he abruptly turned away.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Why’d you stop?”
“You’ve been hurt and terrorized,” he said curtly. “You should be lobbing sharp objects at my head, not kissing me.” He shoved ahand through his hair, then went to the table in the corner where a half-empty bottle of gin sat. He poured a healthy shot into a glass and tossed it back in one swallow.
I watched him. Devon ran so hot and cold on me from one minute to the next, though I didn’t think it was a bad
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