Kidnapped by the Billionaire (32 page)

Pleasure and that primitive, savage need began to unfurl inside him on great, black wings, making him grab the back of her neck to hold her still as he drove himself inside her. Violet jerked, her spine bowing, a long, low moan breaking from her. He could feel her pussy squeezing him tightly as the orgasm gripped her, and he felt the satisfaction of it rip through him like a hit of Columbia's finest.

Oh fuck, yes. He couldn't resist this. He'd been too long without it, without warmth and softness and the smooth skin of a woman under him. He'd been too long without Violet. And hell, maybe he didn't need to go without anymore. She wasn't going anywhere in any hurry and he could gorge himself on her while he had the chance. He didn't have to let her in, he didn't have to open himself up. But he could give her this. That would be enough wouldn't it? He wasn't the only one who'd gone without.

He slid his free hand down her back, feeling her muscles shift and flex as he thrust into her, listening to her hoarse cries. She shivered under his touch, the cries turning into little sobs.

“Again, Violet,” he murmured roughly.

She shook her head, but he reached for one of her hands, gripping her wrist and pulling it down, guiding her fingers between her thighs to her clit. “Touch yourself,” he ordered. “Again, princess. Again.” And he covered her hand with his, moving her finger on her own slick flesh.

“Eli…” His name was a broken sound. “Please…”

He slowed his thrusts right down, easing in and out, watching her shift and tremble beneath him. She'd told him she wouldn't fight him, and she wasn't. She was all soft and pliable, like prey in the jaws of a wolf.

She had surrendered.

Yours now.

S
atisfaction spread through him, the hunger coming with it, and there was no thinking anymore. Only the raw, savage desire that gripped him tight whenever she was around.

Elijah held his hand over hers, guiding her finger in tight, slick circles around and around her clit, stroking his cock in and out of her, not stopping, not pausing. Driving her closer and closer to the edge. She sobbed then gave a sudden hoarse scream, her whole body shaking as she came.

Then he pushed her down flat and leaned forward, right over her, his hands on either side of her head, covering her with his body. And he began to fuck her hard, deep, fast. Giving into the savagery inside him, so that the sounds of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the room, along with the hoarse gasp of his breathing and her sharp cries.

He lowered his head as the pleasure began to tear into him, sinking his teeth into her shoulder, wanting the salty taste of her skin on his tongue as he came. And when the orgasm finally detonated, blowing his mind completely, he came down on her, pressing her softness into the couch.

“You're mine, princess,” he whispered as it began to hit. “You're fucking mine.”

*   *   *

Violet kept her eyes shut tight, her brain cloudy with the effects of two intense climaxes in a row, fighting to breathe. Because he was all around her, the heat of his body, the scent of forests and snow and sex, and Jesus, she could even hear the strong, steady beat of his heart.

It should have been suffocating, she should have felt crushed. But she didn't. In fact, there was a part of her that wanted to lie here forever and never move. There was something comforting about the weight of all that muscle, all that contained power. She felt safe tucked beneath him, anchored. No longer alone, but protected.

You're mine, princess. You're fucking mine.

The words echoed and reechoed inside her head, and the warm, safe feeling began to dissipate. What the hell did he mean by that? He'd been very clear that he wasn't going to let her in, so why was he getting all possessive of her?

She swallowed, her throat dry, the aching, lonely thing inside of her shivering with pleasure at the thought of such possessiveness. At the raw heat in his voice as he'd said it. No one had ever gotten possessive of her. No one had wanted her enough, and even thinking about it made her feel desperate. And also afraid. She'd lost so much already—did she really want to let herself think she could have this?

The weight on her eased, and she had to bite her lip to keep from protesting, wanting it back. He slid from her body, shifting away from her, and then there was cold air at her back, the couch dipping then rising up again as he got off it.

She kept her eyes closed, listening to his footsteps recede, then she curled up tight, folding herself around the ache in her chest.

How had it come to this? That she'd fallen for the man who'd kidnapped her at gunpoint? A hard, cold man, twisted by grief and the need for revenge. A man who wouldn't ever let her help or heal him. A man who wouldn't ever trust her.

She'd hoped that by not fighting, that by surrendering to him completely, she'd get him to drop his guard. Yet he hadn't, not even a little bit.

How naive of her. How stupid. Perhaps she should have used that damn code when he'd given it to her and just gotten out.

Footsteps sounded again, coming closer and closer. He moved quietly for such a big guy, but she could hear the sound of his breathing as he paused beside the couch. She could feel the heat of his bare skin too. He was close.

She didn't move, keeping herself curled up tight. With any luck he'd just leave her alone, which would be good, because right now she had nothing left, feeling bruised and hard, used both physically and emotionally.

Pathetic. He won't give you what you want and now you're sulking like a little bitch.

Well, okay, yeah, it was pathetic. But shit, she'd had a hell of a day. All her fears about her father had not only been confirmed, they'd ended up being worse than anything she could possibly imagine. Her mother had basically told her not to call her. And now she'd ended up having feelings for a guy who shot at her.

How fucked up was that?

You really are your father's daughter.

The thought was like a knife sliding beneath her skin, cold and sharp. Perhaps she should never have let herself believe it when he'd told her there was nothing wrong with her. After all, there had to be a reason why her brother had disappeared. Why her mother had always been distant. Why her father and ended up being such a monster.

No, she was being ridiculous, wasn't she?

She curled up tighter, only to feel a pair of powerful arms slide beneath her, lifting her, gathering her up against the hard, hot wall of his chest. She opened her eyes, finding his inky stare looking down at her.

“I don't want to talk,” he said in a soft, rough voice. “And I'm not going to give you my life story. But if you need someone to make you forget for a while, I will.”

The dryness in her throat intensified. It wasn't the capitulation she'd wanted and she was starting to think he just wasn't the kind of man who'd bend, not even a little. But it was an olive branch of sorts. “And if I don't?”

“Then you don't, and you sleep on the couch.”

Violet swallowed. What a bitch of a choice. Part of her wanted to tell him to fuck off, that she'd take the couch and to hell with him. But she was too raw and too lonely, and the feel of his arms around her was far too good.

“I don't want to sleep on the couch,” she said thickly.

He stared at her for a second, his gaze merciless. Then he turned and headed toward the hall doorway with her held tight in his arms.

“I couldn't save her,” he said, short and abrupt.

She glanced up at him in surprise. “Couldn't save who?”

“My wife.” He wasn't looking at her, his attention on where he was going, so she took a minute to study the forceful lines of his face, all hard planes and harsh angles. Not daring to breathe in case he stopped speaking.

“Fitzgerald befriended her. Promised to help her with her career. I told her it was too good to be true, but she told me not to worry. That this would be great for her. I shouldn't have listened.”

Her throat was tight, her heart heavy and hurting. So he
was
giving her something of himself, even though he said he wouldn't. Yet it made her ache even more. “That wasn't your fault,” she murmured.

A flash of darkness as he glanced down at her. “No. It wasn't. It was Kane's.”

She swallowed past the tightness. “It wasn't his either.”

“Bullshit.” Elijah's voice was flat with certainty. “He made a mistake. He should have been harder with her. Should have protected her more. But he didn't. He loved her too much instead.”

Violet felt something curl up tight in her chest as they made their way down the hallway to the bedroom, felt her eyes get dry and sore. Of course he'd loved his wife. Where else had all this rage come from? Love. Love was
always
the problem.

“I thought you said you didn't want to talk,” she said hoarsely.

“I don't.”

He carried her into the bedroom without another word, going over to the big bed with the black velvet quilt on top. The big wide bed he'd ordered her not to go anywhere near two days ago.

She was tempted to say something about that as he put her down on it, the velvet quilt soft and sensual against her bare skin. But he didn't give her a chance to either speak or think about what that meant. Instead he followed her down, pushing her beneath him, his mouth finding hers, hard and demanding.

And there was no talking at all after that.

*   *   *

“Okay,” Eva said from her chair beside the fire, her attention on the laptop balanced on her knees. “I've finally managed to track down some info. It's not much, but it's something.”

Gabriel thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans, trying to keep his impatience in check. “Well don't keep us in suspense,” he said acidly. “Fucking spit it out.”

Eva raised an eyebrow at his tone but let it pass without comment. Looked like his extremely bad mood was obvious. “The name we're looking for is Jericho,” she said.

The Second Circle meeting room was silent for a long moment.

Alex, sitting on the couch with Katya and Honor, frowned. “Never heard of him.”

“Not many people have.” Zac was standing beside Eva's chair, looking down at her laptop screen. “He's a fairly shadowy figure from the looks of things, and what little information we have about him is sketchy.”

Fucking wonderful. Yet another criminal asshole to track down.

Gabriel clenched his fists in his pockets. Opposite him on the couch, Honor gave him a level, blue glance. A sudden uprush of intense desire caught him by the throat and it was all he could do not to leap over the damn coffee table, pick her up in his arms, and take her somewhere quiet where he could forget all about this fucking mess for a while. Forget about the fact he had a sister. A sister who was in deep shit.

But of course he couldn't do that with Honor. At least not yet.

“That's it?” he demanded, getting himself the fuck together. “That's all we know?”

Eva eyed him. “This guy's gone to a lot of trouble to hide himself, so you're going to have to give me more than just a couple of hours if you want more info.” She looked down at her screen again. “But what I did find out was that he—or at least businesses he's associated with—have a lot of fingers in a lot of different pies. Trafficking, drugs, weapons. A whole lot of bad shit basically.”

“What's his association with Fitzgerald then?” Gabriel tried to make it sound less like a demand, but failed miserably.

“I think that's obvious,” Zac said in his usual calm way. “They're both in the same business. I'd say Fitzgerald was angling to grow his little empire and wanted Jericho's European connections.”

“Shit.” Alex sighed and looked at Katya. “Should have kept Conrad alive, sweetheart. He might have come in handy right about now.”

Katya snorted. “I have no regrets about South, and I'm sure we can find the information we need our ourselves.” She glanced around. “What about the remaining members of the Seven Devils? Perhaps they know something?”

The Russian woman had a point. There were two Devils still alive, and one was Honor's stepfather. The Circles club hadn't bothered with them, since Guy Tremain was still recovering from a gunshot wound to the head and was having memory problems. The other, Mantel, Zac was keeping under surveillance just in case he decided to make a move toward taking control of Fitzgerald's empire. So far he hadn't, though maybe he was just biding his time.

“Good idea,” Zac said. “Perhaps I should pay Mr. Mantel a visit. I've been meaning to have a chat with him anyway.”

“You know how much I enjoy your little chats, Zac,” Alex commented lazily, leaning back on the couch and sliding an arm around Katya's waist, “but do we really want to upset people right now? After Fitzgerald's very public death?”

Zac lifted a shoulder. “I'll be discreet. From what we've managed to discover, Mantel hasn't been active in Fitzgerald's empire for years, though given these men's ability to hide their nasty little secrets, who knows?” He smiled and it wasn't pleasant. “I'm sure he'll be willing to talk if offered the right incentive.”

Gabriel shifted on his feet, angry and restless. “He needs to know he's a dead man if he tries to take on any of Fitzgerald's shit, understand?”

“Of course. Don't worry, Gabe, I'll make sure he knows his position.”

“Okay, so what other options do we have for finding this Jericho motherfucker?” Gabriel paced down to the end of the fireplace before turning back. “I want to know why he's after Violet. What he wants her for.”

Eva pushed the laptop shut. “Could be Fitzgerald was hoping for an alliance. These criminal factions are like medieval kingships in a lot of ways. Marriage and shit like that tying people together.”