Bullet to the Heart (17 page)

More silence. Her nerves frayed. Remi had been played by the very best. Joseph had taught them all to withstand all manner of torture, silence included, but right now, she was unraveling.

Did he know? Was that why he continued to taunt her with his presence? He must have sensed her nervous energy because he sat down in the chair she’d moved beside the big bay window. He was too big for it. At a few inches over six feet, he wasn’t the biggest man she’d ever seen, but he filled his space so sweetly, seeming larger than life. And it had to do with much more than just the physical.

“I want to talk to you, Gretch—”

She flowed to her feet instantly. The anger she’d been searching for reared its head in that split second. In a movement so fast he didn’t have time to anticipate it, she had his neck under her knife and her other hand buried in his hair.

“Do not ever call me by that name,” she said softly at his ear. Volcanic rage coursed through Remi. How dare he?

He continued to breathe easy, though every inhalation dug her knife’s edge deeper into his skin. She hadn’t broken the tanned flesh, but the threat was there. His head was pulled so far back by her hand in his hair that he was able to look at her face.

“What do I call you?” he asked, and amusement peppered his tone.

His smell was all man, and it pulled at her, teased her until she forced herself to breathe through her mouth. “How about you call me nothing?”

“Your name is Gretchen.” Hard assurance rang in his voice now, dangerous to her control.

She nicked him then, sliced just deep enough for him to know this was anything but a game. His pupils widened, but other than that there was no physical reaction. His hands remained on his lap, loose. His shoulders were easy, not bunched. She wondered how many times he’d had his neck under a knife to become so comfortable with it.

“You cut me.”

“I’ll
gut
you right here, Mr. Bennett. I think somewhere along the line you’ve become comfortable with having a killer under your roof. Consider it a reminder that I’m not a game to be played or a puzzle to solve.” She moved her lips to his ear. “You are nothing to me—a means to an end at best, an inconvenience at worst.”

He moved then, coming out of the chair fast and furious, right hand striking at her face even as his left hand lifted up to push her hand away from his throat. She easily avoided the strike and stepped back, arms loose, adrenaline arcing through her blood like whiskey.

The look on his face would’ve frozen ice, but she’d been here before. He wore a different face than her past opponents, and none of them had ever made her body soften in need, but for that moment he was the same as any other enemy.

Rand took a step forward and she shifted her weight, moved to his right, and started to hop over the bed. Her forward progress stopped by his hand wrapping in her hair, he pulled hard and she fell backward, twisting at the last second. She let her momentum carry her around and clipped him in the knee with her left arm. He grunted and dropped to the other one, but never let go of her hair.

She met the floor, and within seconds, he had his knee on her head, pressing her into the carpet. He shifted immediately and grabbed both of her hands with one of his, never letting go of her hair. He sat on her back, hugged her sides with his knees, and squeezed so hard she coughed to draw air.

She relaxed, went limp, and allowed him a momentary feeling of accomplishment.

He leaned down, never relinquishing hold of her hands as he pulled back on her hair. This lifted her torso off the floor and bent her backwards. The pain of her hair being pulled was eclipsed as his breath tickled her neck, the warmth sliding down her skin and pebbling her nipples.

“I haven’t become comfortable with having you under my roof,” he said in a gravelly voice. She shivered. “But having you under me, well now, that’s something I’ve been weighing in my mind for a quick minute.”

The air locked in her lungs. Fire razed her belly, intense and determined, unrepentant. It scorched her, forced her muscles to jump under her skin. It was uncontrollable. She wiggled her hips, desperation edging her to action. Remi gathered herself, tensing, and then she wrenched her hands free and turned over. He immediately placed his knees on her upper arms, effectively pinning her to the floor. His hands settled on the floor at each side of her head.

It galled her. As he lowered his face to hers, his chest meshing with hers, she had to acknowledge he’d allowed her to turn. And the move benefited his aim.

The look on his face took her breath. If the air had locked in her lungs a minute ago, now it came out in a rush, and she gasped for more. Her chest rose and fell, each inhalation pressing her breasts to the solid muscle of his.

“Tell me, what do I call you?”

The sun was falling and chose that moment to spear the window, throwing its yellow rays over his face, illuminating his eyes. She shuddered. The light framed his face, made his beauty angelic as desire cut her deep.

His gaze tracked over her face and she felt it as a tactile sensation. Her body went boneless beneath his, the hands she’d freed before she turned grabbing the hard thighs that prevented her from reaching for him.

“Say it,” she whispered, wanting to call the words back, regretting them, but at the same time needing . . . more.

He rubbed his whisker-roughed cheek over hers, the sensation so intensely sexual she moaned. She’d never experienced this—sliding of flesh against hers, warm breath washing over her skin, heat burning so hot she was sweating inside.

“Say what?” he asked against her neck. His lips were right there, and she closed her eyes on a wish.

The ridge of his cock rubbed against her stomach, and her abdomen clenched. His hands tangled in her hair, and her nails, shorn from her time digging in the dirt earlier, dug desperately into his jeans-covered thighs.

He hissed in a breath and settled deeper into her. He was heavy but not oppressing, and she soaked up his weight and warmth.

“
Dis-le,
” she whispered even as she arched her back, pushing her breasts against his chest and giving him greater access to her neck.

Thoughts came and went, and warnings dinged in the back of her mind, but it was all at a distance. If she had nothing else in her life just for Remi, she wanted this . . . right now.

He licked her then, along the tendon that ran down her neck. “Please,” she said on a groan.

Rand pulled away just a few inches, enough for her to see his lust-stained cheeks and beautifully sculpted lips. God, he was gorgeous, black hair mussed, a lock on his forehead that she wanted to brush away. His eyes were bright with what lay between them.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said and then lowered his head.

She took a breath, taking him in deep, tasting him as her body clamored for his lips on hers. She shook her head. This was insane, but even as the thought came, she pushed it away.

“
Mon nom ... dis-le
.”
Say my name.
Plea. Prayer. It was those things and more. Just once more she needed it from his lips.

“I want to, but I don’t think it’s quite the right time yet,” he said a second before he took her lips in a blistering kiss.

His tongue was hot silk in her mouth, pushing and withdrawing, begging hers to dance in a duel of want. His lips slid over hers, teeth tugging even as she lifted her head for deeper contact. And just when she felt herself take the plunge into that irresistible thing called desire, he pulled away.

She approached a kiss like warfare, hot strokes full of deadly intent, and then withdrawal to evaluate the damage to her opponent. Rand was lost in her. Every moan, every sigh, every breath built an anticipation he’d never known. But this shouldn’t be warfare. It should be . . .

He dropped the thought, and unwilling to pick it back up, he moved off her and stood. He didn’t know why he felt a need to wait for this. He simply knew it wasn’t the right time. For some reason, Gretchen Dearborn, aka Bullet, called to the protector in him.

She’d thought to threaten him, and she’d gotten the upper hand on him as it were, until he’d managed to brute force her to the ground. He winced as he walked to the door. She’d punched him in the knee as she’d gone to the ground, and that shit had hurt. Still hurt.

Rand stopped, hand on the knob, and looked back at her, heartbreaking blue eyes alive with fire. She’d gained her feet, chest heaving. Hands clenched into small fists at her side, she cocked her head. It was a challenge, and Rand fucking wanted her so badly.

He adjusted himself behind his jeans and turned.

“I want you.” Put it out there and see how she responded.

Her gaze dropped to his pelvis, and a wry grin touched her full lips.

“Did you hear me?”

“You’re practically yelling,” she returned ruefully.

“Yeah, I never did that until I met you.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“By all means, blame the killer for everything.” Then she did something he would’ve never expected. She laughed.

And it made her even lovelier. His dick went from hard to throbbing. She laughed with everything in her, the sound full-bodied and husky, almost rusty, but sexy for all that. Her laughter then died, and she wiped tears from her face, glanced around sheepishly.

Beautiful
.

He moved before he could censure his steps, took her face in his hands, and kissed her again. It went beyond need now, it was imperative that he taste her, feel her inside of him.

She grabbed his shoulders, and he pushed her back, toward the bed. She sat, and he was aware he’d taken her by surprise but refused to allow space between them, coming over her and pressing her into the bed with his body.

Her legs opened, whether instinct or something else, he neither knew nor cared. Rand was only focused on how perfectly his hips settled in the cradle of hers, how sweet her breath in his mouth tasted. He needed inside of her. Somehow, someway this woman eased that part of him that had hungered for so long.

He lifted her shirt and pulled at her bra. It ripped, and she was left with tattered cotton that he swept out of the way. Her skin was creamy velvet, and as he lowered his head to take her in his mouth, he wondered if this was it—if he’d ever be able to pull away from her, her taste, the feel of her under his palms.

Her nipples were tight and sat so prettily atop the mound of her full breasts. He licked one, and her back arched, so he blew on it to reward her. Her hands, still on his shoulders, dug deep in to the muscles there. His hips flexed and he rotated them, feeling her body soften beneath him. He nuzzled her breast, the soft flesh warm and willing, and then he took her into his mouth and suckled.

She almost came off the bed as a shudder rippled through her body. “Yesssss,” she hissed, and her hands tangled in his hair.

He was going to fuck her. Fifty ways from Sunday and again on Monday if they continued down this path. He pulled her deep, flicked the tip with his tongue, and released it with a pop. Then he moved to the other one, but not before he palmed the one he’d left, massaging the fullness and wringing a groan from her chest.

“C'est trop. Nous devons cesser,”
she whispered, even as she curled her hips ups to meet the thrust of his.

“Speak English, damn it,” he muttered around her flesh. If she kept talking to him in that sexy-as-hell language, he was going to come before he ever got inside her.

She pulled his hair, forcing his head back. He held onto her nipple delicately, but with his teeth. She inhaled sharply and he smiled, never letting go of the bud. She liked a little pain and the thought had him groaning.

She was uninhibited, and it was so at odds with the warrior in her that it took his breath. Rand stilled. He released her nipple with a small bite, followed by a licking caress. He tangled his hands in her hair and forced her to face him.

Her eyes were slits and her cheeks were rouged.

“Look at me,” he demanded. Her body was his. He recognized it even as he watched her struggle with the truth.

She closed her eyes, leaving dark brown lashes to lie in silken fans on her cheeks.

“Look at me.” It was a request this time.

She did. And he was lost.

Her body was an entity Remi didn’t recognize. Soft and pliant underneath his hard heat, it begged for his touch, the rasp of his beard stubble on her flesh, the feel of his hard cock riding the ridge of her pelvis. Every touch, every stroke brought her closer to a shimmering reality: she was going to lie with this man.

Her heart tugged in her chest, and her soul screamed for surcease from the fires he stoked, but her brain demanded accounting. And it was her brain she cursed as she pushed at his shoulders and watched regret carve into his handsome face.

“This is going to happen,” he said firmly, not budging an inch.

“It cannot happen, Mr. Beckett,” she replied in a waspish tone, feeling his regret echo in her belly.

He pressed forward, and she didn’t even try to stop the moan that slid from her mouth. “Your mouth says no, but your body, Bullet? Your body tells me yes.”