Take Me Deeper (11 page)

You didn't protest about Dylan, either.

Her throat closed. No, she'd learned that lesson, and by rights, she should be stopping Zane, telling him that Jamie wasn't his business and she didn't need his stupid water either. But she
needed
to know about her sister and she couldn't do that herself, not without giving herself away. Zane could find out whether Jamie was okay at least. And as for the water…

Her skin tingled where his fingertips had brushed her forehead and there was a curious heaviness inside her. As if now that he was here, she didn't have to worry and could relax knowing that someone else was taking care of things. A crazy thing to think while waiting for a bunch of bloodthirsty drug traffickers to come and kill her.

Hell, maybe she was crazy. That would certainly explain why she was letting him bring her water, brush her hair out of her eyes, and ease her fear. Take care of her, despite knowing how risky it was. It was only…well, she hadn't had anyone take care of her for a long time. If anyone ever had. So it was nice to have Zane do a few small things for her. To feel like maybe tonight she didn't have to be so alone.

He was talking, half turned away to the window, the curtains pushed open so he could look outside. The light from the city fell over the lean planes and angles of his face, highlighting his strong jaw and straight nose, the intriguing curve of his mouth. God, he was really hot, no doubt about it, and the uncompromising set of his features only made him more so.

She sipped her water, trying to forget the fear by studying him instead. Why was he wearing a suit? Did a lot of soldiers wear suits? And why was he working as a bounty hunter? What was going on with his brothers? Why was he so intent on saving her?

So many questions she shouldn't want answers to, and yet they turned over and over in her head all the same.

He's dangerous. You'd better watch yourself.

No, she didn't need to watch herself. She knew what to be careful about. She wasn't going to let herself get sucked in to another Dylan situation, not if she could help it. Zane was great eye candy and it was true she liked the way he was helping her out, but that was a one-night-only kind of thing. If he tried to take charge tomorrow, she'd kick his ass. Or at least put him straight about who was in charge.

Oh, come on. You like him being in charge.

But she had no time to think about the implications of that because Zane was turning from the window and tucking his phone away, and her insides froze solid at the grim look on his face.

She surged up off the couch in a single movement. “Jamie? Is she okay?”

“Jamie's fine.” His black brows descended. “The woman was irritatingly evasive, but it seems there's no reason to believe Jamie's in any danger.”

A shudder of relief went through her, so intense she had to look down at the ground so he wouldn't see. She felt as thin and fragile as a pane of glass, which would have been fine if she were by herself. But she wasn't. He was here and she didn't want him seeing her so vulnerable.

Putting her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, she cleared her throat, set her jaw, and looked up. “What did you say? I mean, how did you get her to tell you anything?” And yay for her, her voice sounded at least a little bit normal.

The light was behind him, throwing his face into shadow, the intensity of his eyes lost in the darkness. But she could see the glitter in them, the edge of a fierce determination. “I told her I was with the police and I had reason to believe her life may be in danger after her sister skipped bail.”

“So you lied.”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation, none. Yet she got the idea that Zane Redmond wasn't a man who lied as a matter of course.

He'd lied for her, risked his life to protect her, given promises he clearly didn't want to give for her. She'd already asked him why he would do all this for a woman he barely knew and he'd replied with a question of his own.
“Don't you think you're worth it?”

Her throat tightened at the memory and she didn't want to think about why. Didn't want to acknowledge the heaviness in her chest. It was a question she was never going to give him the answer to, but she had to give him something in return for all he'd done for her. The last thing she wanted was to be beholden.

“Thank you,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I appreciate it.”

He said nothing, staring at her with that laser-focus she was starting to associate with him.

“So…” This was going to be awkward, but she didn't know what else to do. It wasn't like she had anything else of value to offer him. “Are you staying here tonight?”

“Of course. I'm not leaving you unprotected.”

“In that case…you don't have to take the couch.”

His frown deepened. “The couch unfolds into a perfectly good bed. It's probably not that uncomfortable.”

She took a breath. “That's not what I mean. I mean you can sleep with me instead.”

She stood across the room from him, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, her hair in glossy black tangles all over her shoulders, with chip crumbs clinging to her faded black T-shirt and smudges of exhaustion under her eyes. He could see the tension in her jaw—in her entire posture—and he knew that she'd been scared out of her mind about her sister, no matter how hard she'd tried to cover it.

She looked vulnerable, fragile, and sexy as hell.

And as soon as she said the words, it was like someone had taken a defibrillator to his chest, jolting his heart back into life with a few thousand volts of electricity.

You can sleep with me instead.

It was clear what she meant. What wasn't clear was whether she actually wanted to sleep with him or whether she was only offering it as some kind of weird thank-you. Because that was exactly what the blow job offer had been.

Beneath the shock of desire that rocketed through him wound a thin thread of anger. Jesus Christ, did she really think he was the kind of man who accepted sex as a show of gratitude?

“You're offering me sex?” he asked, just to clarify.

Color crept over her cheekbones, but she only lifted her chin. “Yeah, sure. I mean, you're doing all this stuff for me, and I don't have anything to give—”

“I'm not doing it because I want something from you, Iris,” he interrupted, suddenly furious. “I'm doing it because you need someone to help you.”

She was blushing hard now, but he didn't miss the glitter of defensive anger in her dark eyes. “Well, fine then. Sure, I might need help with the cartel and I'm grateful that you called about Jamie, don't get me wrong. But for future reference, I don't need water or coffee or pastries or any of that crap, okay?”

Right, so because he wasn't going to accept her magnanimous sex offer, she was going to get all prickly about it?

His anger twisted and before he could fully reason why any of this was such a drama, he was walking toward her. “Bullshit,” he said roughly. “I've never met a woman more in need of that ‘crap' as you like to call it.”

She didn't back away, her chin at a stubborn angle, her gaze belligerent. “You have no idea what I need.”

He shouldn't let himself get so angry. He shouldn't allow her to get under his skin. Yet, here he was, doing both. Dammit, what the hell was wrong with him?

“You want to know what I think?” He stopped right in front of her, staring down into eyes so dark they were almost black, the soft, warm flower scent of her suddenly all around him.

“No, I don't—”

“I think you're the one who has no idea what you need.”

She blinked, a fleeting confusion flickering in her gaze. “That's not true.”

But it was, he could see it. He didn't know her life, didn't know what she'd gone through, yet he could see the scars that life had left on her all the same. Her defensiveness. Her prickliness. The fear in her eyes when she'd told him about her sister. Over the years, he'd come into contact with a lot of people, mainly civilians, who'd lost things, and Iris Callahan seemed like a woman who'd lost a hell of a lot of things. A woman who was trying to survive, protecting herself any way she could.

A woman who needed a lot, but obviously didn't want to acknowledge it.

He could give that to her. More than that, he wanted to. And whether that was to do with Charlie or not, he didn't know, and quite frankly, right in this moment, he didn't much care. Charlie was long gone and he'd live with her death on his conscience forever. But Iris wasn't. She was here and even though she didn't want to acknowledge it, she needed something.

She needed him.

His anger began to drain away, began to change, becoming something else. Something insistent and hot.

He lifted his hand, cupping her cheek, her skin smooth and hot beneath his fingers. “Isn't it?” he asked. “Then tell me what it is you think you need, sweetheart.”

She'd gone still, not pulling away, staring up at him while the currents of her emotions ebbed and flowed in her eyes. “I need to be left alone.” There was a soft edge to her voice. “That's all I want.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, letting his thumb move over the curve of one cheekbone. “That's what you want. But it's not what you need.”

Her gaze drifted to his mouth and he could feel a slight pressure against his palm where it rested against her cheek, as if she were leaning into it. “You don't know me, so don't tell me what I do and don't need.” Her voice had gotten even more husky now, making a deep, primitive part of him feel intensely satisfied.

She was like a little cat, pushing against him, hungry for contact yet not wanting to ask for it or even acknowledge it.

“Sure, I do,” he said, moving his thumb again, stroking her. God, her skin was all silky and smooth, like the petals of those roses his mother used to grow, back in the garden of the big bungalow with the wraparound porch they used to live in. Back before she'd died and his father had been a proper father, not the pitiful excuse for a man he'd turned into. “I know exactly. You need someone to take care of you. Someone to protect you. You need someone to make you feel safe, don't you?”

She didn't move and she didn't look at him. Her eyes had drifted shut, her lashes lying in thick fans on her cheeks, and he could sense the tension in her, as if she wanted to pull away and yet stay exactly where she was at the same time.

She didn't want to hear this, that was obvious. Which made it equally obvious that everything he'd said was true.

You can't do this. Not again. Not with another vulnerable woman.

He knew that, and yet he couldn't seem to bring himself to move away. It was as if something in him desperately wanted to give her what she needed, and he didn't know whether he could resist the pull.

Then her lashes lifted and she met his gaze, and he could see the shadows move in her eyes. And without any warning at all, she put a hand on his chest and rose up on her toes, bringing her mouth to his.

He was a man who was usually prepared for every eventuality, but he was not, in any way, prepared for Iris's kiss. It was gentle, tentative, as if she didn't do it very often, and the shock of it held him still as she touched her tongue to the seam of his lips, delicately trying to find a way inside.

No one kissed him, at least not without permission since he was also a man who liked control, especially in bed. In fact, it had been a very long time since he'd been kissed, period.

He didn't have relationships—as a soldier, it was difficult even if he'd wanted them—but he also didn't like random hookups in bars. What he did have was an understanding with several female colleagues who liked his particular brand of control and who could give him their bodies for a night without demanding anything else. Who knew what they were letting themselves in for and got off on it as much as he did.

But Iris wasn't one of his fuck-buddies. She was guarded and wary and vulnerable, and she didn't know that what he wanted wasn't just sex. It was everything.

Zane kept himself still. The shock had begun to wear off, a deep, intense hunger replacing it, and he wanted very badly to strip her bare, explore her, find out exactly what made her shake, what made her cry out, what made her sob. Discover the thing that only he could give her.

But he didn't, not yet. The light touch of her mouth was so new and soft, almost hesitant, as if she were asking him a question and wasn't quite sure of his answer.

Except he knew what his answer would be. And he knew she wouldn't like it.

Which makes it exactly what she needs.

Yeah, and he really didn't need that thought in his head, not when this wasn't going to go anywhere, not if he could help it.

Sliding the hand cupping her cheek along her jaw and around to the back of her head, he threaded his fingers through her silky dark hair and gently tugged her away.

Her eyes were black, her mouth full and red, and he could taste her in his mouth, a honey sweetness with the bite of dry champagne. She blinked at him, a dazed look on her face. “Why did you stop?”

“Sweetheart, I can't stop what I didn't start.” He tightened his grip on her hair as she tried to lean forward to kiss him again. “No. We're not going there.”

“Why not? You wanted to know what I needed. Maybe I need this.”

“Maybe you do. But not with me.”

Her forehead creased. “You said that—”

“I said that I knew what you needed. I didn't say I was going to give it to you.”

She stared at him, a frown settling between her brows. Her hand hadn't moved from his chest, the light warmth of it like a sunbeam, and he wanted his shirt not to be there, for there to be nothing between her palm and his skin.

It had been a long time since he'd held a woman like this, since he'd had silky hair wound around his fingers and soft, giving curves pressing against him. Six months maybe. The last time had been in Frankfurt while on leave from his last posting, with one of his friends with benefits, a lush blonde whom he'd enjoyed and yet, for all that, in the end he'd felt like he was missing something. He hadn't known exactly what and hadn't explored the feeling, too busy preparing for his next mission and not wanting to know the answer anyway, because he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.