Hell Breaks Loose Page 14

  He growled as if sensing her surrender. It was the longest kiss of her life. She didn’t know that a kiss could last until her lips went numb and bolts of sensation flooded to every nerve in her body.

  Her entire being ended and began where his mouth fused with hers. The heady taste of him, rich and deep and faintly meady from the beer—or maybe she was tasting herself on him. She didn’t know. She only knew that minutes ago she had been hurting and now there was this. Desire and want and sex. Sex with mouths alone. She never wanted it to end. She could climax through this alone. She knew it. This kiss could keep going and it would happen. She already felt the twisting ache starting at her core.

  He broke away, still holding onto her with that fist in her hair and his arm locked around her waist. He looked down at her with blazing eyes. “What the fuck was that?”

  She moistened her tingling lips. His eyes tracked the movement of her tongue, the flecks of gold standing out within the green of his eyes. And glowing. Glowing like candlelight. “You kissed me,” she returned, her voice a whispered hush.

  “You needed kissing.”

  She thought about that for a second, recognizing the truth, terrible or not, of that statement. She needed kissing. Yes. Yes, I did.

  And I needed more.

  “So what’s the problem, then?” she asked.

  He frowned. “You weren’t supposed to like it. You weren’t supposed to kiss me back like . . .” Words failed him.

  Like what? She searched his face.

  Her body burned. She felt dizzy, drugged, words elusive as she struggled for speech. Stringing words together felt like too much of a challenge when all she wanted to do was kiss him again. And again. And maybe they could follow that with more kissing. “Maybe you should do it again, then. This time, I’ll try not to like it so much.”

  A hissed breath escaped him. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

  “Why not?” Even as she asked the question, she knew. She knew why not. He was who he was. She was who she was. Everything was wrong about this. Except her body thought it felt right. Her long-denied libido thought it felt pretty perfect.

  “Because I might take you up on your offer.” She felt him then—the hard erection digging into her. Her mouth parted on a gasp.

  He pushed his hips forward, and that succeeded in making her moan. She felt her own eyes widen. Felt her muscles quiver and clench between her legs.

  “Would that be so bad?” she whispered, even though she didn’t need to talk in such low tones. Even though it was just the two of them all alone out here in the middle of nowhere. No witnesses. The outside world forgotten, this great big thing that didn’t matter or exist. That’s how it felt in this moment. That was how she wanted it to be.

  His fingers flexed in her hair, pulling her forward so he could fan the words across her lips. “Careful, little girl. This is a game you don’t want to start with me.”

  It was her turn to frown. “I’m not a little girl.”

  “Then you know that kissing leads to other things.”

  “Sure. And it’s not anything I haven’t done before.” God, was she actually saying such things to him? Was she actually baiting him into sleeping with her?

  She had clearly crossed a threshold. He should terrify her, but she couldn’t dredge up a shred of regret. There was no impulse to flee or go back. Only forward.

  Something passed over his features and his pale eyes darkened, the flecks of amber bright inside the deep green. “I can assure you . . . you haven’t done it with me before.”

  She studied his face, admiring its brutal beauty. No, her list of lovers was short, totaling two, and neither one of them were anything like this man. Really, they were boys in comparison. Nor would any man in her future be like him. She knew that without a doubt. She didn’t cross paths with warrior Viking types. This might be her only chance to have this, to be with someone who was so . . . raw. Someone who didn’t have sex. Her gaze skimmed him, wholly convinced. He didn’t have sex. He fucked.

  He stepped back, dropping his arms from around her.

  She stood there, feeling bereft and trying to hide it as she recovered from the kiss to end all kisses.

  Without a word he turned and marched out of the kitchen into the bedroom, leaving her alone. Left to herself, mortification slowly slipped in, settling alongside his rejection.

  He’d told her she wasn’t his type. Apparently he meant it. He might have kissed her in some fit of temper, but he didn’t want more. He didn’t want her even though she had flung herself at him like some dog in heat. God. She closed her eyes in a long, pained blink, rubbing one palm against her overheated cheek.

  She had definitely crossed a threshold. She was ready to bump uglies with an escaped felon, her kidnapper. It was so messed up. She was messed up.

  She inhaled deeply. It was the stress of the situation. If they’d actually done it, she would have been riddled with regret afterward. It wouldn’t have been real. It couldn’t ever be real.

  It was a sign. When she made it back to the real world, she would make some changes and get her life in order. No more living for her father. It was overdue, but her life would finally be her own.

  Fourteen

  Grace disappeared into the bathroom. She wished she could just disappear altogether and didn’t have to face him ever again, but since she was still his captive, the bathroom was the only place she could truly hide.

  First order of business after she got out of here? Get laid.

  Okay, maybe not first order. She’d have to break the news to her parents that she was leaving DC and taking back her life.

  Deciding that a cold shower always worked in books and movies, she stripped off her clothes and stepped inside. She gasped at the shock of cold. She felt like she deserved a little punishment after that kiss. Her behavior had been unforgivable. Responding . . . embracing it.

  She endured the icy water for as long as she could. She didn’t need to wash her hair again, so she angled the showerhead so the water didn’t make contact with her body. In no rush to face him, she pressed her palms flat against the shower wall and dropped her head, stretching her too-tight neck. Her mind backtracked over the events of the last couple days, landing on one all-important, definitive fact. She was still alive. That was the everything of it. The most important fact. Reid had promised he would keep her safe. He’d promised that there was an end date to this, even if he didn’t tell her when. Eventually, he would return her back to her life.

  Her life. She mulled over that for a moment. After the terror of her abduction and near brush with rape back at that house with all those horrible men, after witnessing her father’s exaggerated display of grief over her abduction, she suddenly viewed her life with intense dissatisfaction. She viewed it with fresh determination. It needed to change. She was twenty-six years old. She was finished living according to her father’s dictates. When she got out of this mess, she would no longer be playing the part of puppet for her father, and she was most definitely not announcing an engagement to Charles.

  If their relationship didn’t improve, if chemistry didn’t actually arise between them, she was finished with dating him. If it could even be called that. They dined out for the benefit of cameras. Shared chaste pecks, again for the benefit of cameras. They watched Doctor Who together. The rest of the time he talked about work. Politics. Her father. Mood killer, that. He talked about the future. His future.

  She was finished with everything in her life that wasn’t real. Maybe she would start dating someone who actually wanted her for her. Just because Reid had rejected her didn’t mean there wasn’t someone out there for her. Her ex, Nathan, always told her she was a good kisser. She had something to offer in the sex department. Granted, kissing was just a part of it, but she wasn’t totally inept. Now that she knew her libido wasn’t dead—thanks to a certain muscle-bound escaped convict—she felt certain she could find someone who got her blood pumping. More than Charles did anyway.r />
  Wincing, she shut off the water and opened the wobbly fake-glass door.

  She owned the inappropriate thought. She’d done enough lying. Publicly, she had been lying for years, pretending that she had the perfect life, the perfect family, perfect boyfriend. Pretending to care about things she didn’t care about. The least she could do was be honest with herself. Even if it was messed up to admit it, her captor was hot, and her long neglected girl parts had noticed.

  She reached for the scratchy cotton towel on the hook. Not nearly big enough to wrap around her body. An unwanted image of naked Reid rose in her mind. It must be like a washcloth against his big frame. Instead of striking her as ridiculous, the visual only burned her face.

  By the time she emerged, he’d shut off most of the lights in the house. Only the lamp in the living room glowed.

  She stopped at the threshold to the master bedroom that she’d spent so much time in today. He’d arranged his pallet near the door again, leaving room for her to pass. The sight of him there brought home the reminder that he still did not trust her.

  She stepped around him. He didn’t stir. Pulling back the covers, she slipped into bed, turning on her side. She stared unseeingly at the opposite wall, watching flickering shadows chase the darkness. She tried valiantly not to think back to that footage of her father, but she couldn’t help herself. She saw him standing there in the press room. Saw his lips move, heard those words that she knew were meaningless to him.

  Then she heard Reid’s voice in her head. If Daddy doesn’t love you enough, maybe you need to take a hard look in the mirror and figure some things out.

  It was cruel, but she wondered if he was right. Lying there in the darkness, old insecurities found her and bit deep. She felt like a little girl again, forced to play the piano in front of her father’s guests. Every time her fingers stumbled or hit the wrong key, she could feel her parents cringe.

  Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with her in that she couldn’t inspire love and devotion from her parents. From anyone.

  Bullshit. For the first time, she felt the stirrings of anger deep in her belly. She didn’t blame herself for that anymore. People cared about her. She had friends. Granted, the list was short, but it was hard to make friends she could call her own when everyone had to be vetted by her father.

  Still, she had Holly. She might be on her father’s payroll, but no one forced Holly to like her. And there was her college roommate, Abby. Not a week went by when they didn’t talk. They texted almost every day. Especially since Abby got engaged. And Charles. They were friends, just not lovers. They spent too much time together to fake friendship.

  When Charles first asked her out, she thought it was actually because he wanted to go out with her. But after a few dates she knew the score. Her father had put him up to it. There was probably no chance for sparks once she knew that. Maybe it was her fault. Maybe she’d never given him—them—a chance.

  She sniffed and rubbed at her nose, blinking burning eyes. She’d wasted all these years, hoping she might eventually earn her parents’ love and approval. No more. She wasn’t going to try any longer. She was taking back control.

  Tonight, with Reid, she had been bold and stepped outside her boundaries. As crazy as it had been, she had learned something from it. She was going to seize life. She would live boldly—just no more making out with escaped convicts.

  The bed dipped and she grabbed the edge to stop from rolling to the center. She craned her head to look around at Reid sliding in beside her.

  “What do you want?” she snapped, blinking burning eyes that brimmed with tears, rubbing them with the heel of her hands.

  “Why are you crying?”

  Damn it. She was crying. She hadn’t even realized it.

  “I’m not—”

  “Liar.”

  She snorted. “Why do you care?”

  “Because I can hear you sniffling from across the room.”

  “I have a cold. Don’t concern yourself.”

  He was quiet for a long moment, staring at her in the dark, his disbelief palpable between them, which only made her feel more wretched. The urge to cry was still there, pressing on the back of her throat. But these tears were different. Not self-pitying. She was pissed.

  His hand closed over her shoulder, forcing her to roll around and face him fully. Her feet brushed along his. He hissed a breath. “Damn, woman, your feet are like blocks of ice.”

  “I did what you suggested,” she confessed, her throat tight.

  “Yeah?” His deep, gravelly voice stroked her skin. “Remind me what that was.”

  “I took a hard look at myself, and you’re right. There’s something wrong with me.” The last half of her words escaped in a strangled choke. “But that’s going to change.”

  A muffled curse escaped him. “I never meant—”

  “It’s fine. As soon I get home I’m making some changes.”

  “You shouldn’t listen to me. Half the time I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m a dick.”

  She nodded against the pillow. “You are a dick. But you’re right. I’m done letting others control me. Yes, that goes for you, too.”

  “Me, too, huh? You think I’m in control of you?” His voice sounded funny, almost like he was strangling a little. He reached out, brushing his thumb across her cheek, catching a tear she didn’t even realize had escaped.

  She gulped, trying to drag back the tears. One slipped loose anyway.

  His hand slid alongside her cheek, his fingers wrapping around her neck. “Don’t,” he whispered, tugging her toward him, bringing her forehead to rest against his. “Sweetheart, don’t cry.”

  The tenderness of his plea thawed the worst of her anger. This dangerous, rough man with all his jagged edges actually felt sorry for her. Damn it. A fucking felon felt sorry for her. The floodgates opened. She wept ugly, copious tears. Her captor felt pity for her.

  Holding her by the neck, his lips moved, murmuring nonsense against her cheek. She wasn’t sure when it evolved into kissing, but his lips were on her face, brushing the tracks of tears, crooning, “It’s going to be okay. Hush. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

  She couldn’t stop, though, and she couldn’t catch her breath between the sad little sounds tearing from her lips.

  Then he kissed her. Full on the mouth. He swallowed her sobs. His mouth moved over hers, devouring. She tasted the salt of her own tears on his lips, felt his groan, took it inside herself.

  Stunned, she stopped crying. It was hard to feel sad when his mouth was so very good, so very hot. His tongue worked against hers like she was some kind of dessert and he was determined to have every last morsel.

  Her hands drifted to his bare shoulders, reveling in the firmness of his skin.

  There were no more tears, but other sounds welled up in her throat. Hungry, needy little sounds.

  She clutched his shoulders harder. “This is a mistake,” she gasped against his lips.

  “Definitely a mistake,” he agreed, deepening the kiss and coming over her, his knees settling between her thighs, nudging them apart.

  His elbows settled on either side of her, fingers diving into her hair, palms holding her head in position for his plundering lips.

  Yeah. A mistake, but she couldn’t stop. For the first time she was going to do something just because it felt good. She’d handle the consequences later like a big girl. Obviously this wasn’t going anywhere, but she’d take it. She’d take now. Deal with later . . . later.

  Widening her thighs, she invited him in and lifted her hips to meet the hardness of him through his sweatpants. She found him, hard and jutting to meet her. She gasped into his mouth and ground against him.

  His mouth lifted from her with a gasp and stinging curse.

  “Reid,” she whimpered, but he was gone, moving, the full weight of him lifting off her.

  She bit her lip both with relief and excitement when she felt him seize the rolled waistband o
f her boxer shorts. He pulled them off her in a move so swift it stole her breath.

  Only a T-shirt and the panties were left, saving her from complete nakedness. He came back over her, crouching between her legs. She felt his gaze crawl over her like a caress. His hands settled on the outside of her thighs, his palms work-worn and rough. Her belly twisted at the sensation.

  His eyes gleamed in the dark, finding her face. “Are you faking it this time?”

  “Wh-What?”

  “This . . . you and me? Is it real?”

  Then it clicked. He was referring to their first night when she tried to manipulate him with her body. Of course that had backfired even then because she had liked it. Desperately. She had liked his hands on her even then.

  “I’m not faking anything with you.” And she wasn’t. Terrible or not, she wanted him. She needed him. She wanted him to show her what it was like . . . what he had been talking about earlier today. Fucking. In a moment of striking clarity, she realized this might be the most genuine she had ever been with anyone. This thing between them, this heat . . . it was real.

  Apparently satisfied, his hands started a slow ascent up her thighs, his thumbs turning and arrowing for the crotch of her underwear. She slid down a little on the bed, inching to meet him with a shaky sigh.

  His thumbs centered on her, stroking up and down the crotch of her panties, trailing along her seam before finding and pressing down on her clit. She cried out and arched, her palms pushing down on the mattress. She wanted her panties gone, off. Incinerated to ashes. The barrier of damp fabric was torture.

  “You don’t get to come back from this,” he growled, propping one hand beside her head and coming over her like some great beast in the dark, his hand still working between her thighs, fingers rubbing in fierce circles, bringing her to a frenzy.

  She both nodded and shook her head in wild, jerky motions. Senseless. Mindless for him. She was close. The tide of an orgasm swelled up on her. So close. She bit her lip.