BUFF Page 17

  “Do it and I'll make you bleed,” she hisses, just as he makes up his mind and sinks his mouth into hers.

  She freezes under him, his lips moving gently, more gently than he aims. He only wants to shut her up.

  So he kisses her.

  The pressure of his lips is hard, but the persuasion of his movements is soft, melding their bodies and mouths together. He doesn’t mean to seduce her and he certainly doesn’t want the kiss to turn as erotically charged as fast as it does. But feeding off his instincts he can’t stop himself when she catches him off guard and shifts her thighs so that she’s straddling him, pressing him closer so that his midsection is being crushed by hers.

  His hands release hers on impulse and palm the back of her thigh. A burning sensation fires across his skin, tearing his senses to shreds. He gasps into her mouth, her lips hungry as her teeth skims his lower lip and her pelvis rubs up against his, releasing and clenching. Her nails scorch fire, scraping against the back of his scalp and presses his face deeper into hers.

  The warm clash of her soft, velvety skin, her cheek brushing his, the scent of her body is drowning out the world. When he hears her moan, feels the arousal of her soft wet center against his, his beastly nature roars to life, unshackled from restraint. His arm comes under her head, bringing her so close so he can devour her mouth.

  His tongue finds hers in the jumbled mess; meets outside their mouths but quickly seeks shelter in the dark crevasse of her opening as he follows the wet leading of her tongue.

  First he coaxes her, his tongue moving up and down so that his mouth is directly over hers, but he doesn’t like that. He slants, shifting his mouth to the side, hunting for deeper access to what lays inside. The second he does his tongue is swirling over hers, side to side, looping around her mouth until she follows and mimics the move. The friction of their moist heated tongues is the only thing he can feel.

  He hears her whimper and he continues, the rush of power turning him hard-as-steel in his jeans as he finally answers her body and pushes himself against her. His tongue plunges deeper simultaneously with his body.

  All thoughts of the officer behind him, the crunch for time, the trail of cops and the strict methodical structure he prides himself on—evaporates into thin air.

  He knows he’s in danger.

  But all he can do is kiss her.

  And he can’t fucking stop.

  Chapter Eighteen

  FUCK.

  "Fuck,” he mutters, the curse rumbling from deep inside his chest. Becky seems to swallow the small vibration of sound between them and attacks the swollen, pliant flesh of his mouth that hovers over hers, ready.

  She is all over him; clawing at him like she wants to shred whatever small barrier of clothing lay between them—have him take her right there on the ground. Her hands are everywhere. Her nails dig into his scalp, his cheeks. They're voyaging down the middle of his back, squeezing the life out of him, begging in demand with each hard tug at his body.

  Unprepared he tries to breakaway a bit, confused by the thundering craving that’s turbulently overriding his customary self control.

  Her lips scatter kisses, frantic and hungry for long heated seconds only to turn soft and moist, maneuvering around his mouth with an enticing taunt. The way her body sighs in quivering releases under him makes need split violently inside him. He isn’t trying to make this hard. It isn’t supposed to be this way.

  It's like she can read his mind. Her tongue keeps playing hide and seek with his. Peeking in, giving him a lick of a taste only to draw back and make him chase. It's like she knows he’s starving for more of the exquisite friction of her tongue.

  Desire, hard and pounding, rockets against this skull. His fingertips pulse, aching to throw the nun-like sweater she’s wearing over her head and finally get a nice view of what's underneath. A view he can devote hours to, studying her until he knows every inch of her skin by heart. Until every freckle, every slope, has been memorized, until his mouth is the only contact her body calls for.

  The primal wish makes all his good intentions crumble. His body is ready to be her servant and obey each and every thing her body wants. His cold hands come up, skimming under her sweater. Her flesh is burning molten and the contrasting friction ceases everything inside him, muting out the world as the feel of her crashes through him.

  The length of his fingers alone almost covers the plane of her stomach. They compress into the cushion of her soft flesh, inching up, hungry to move higher, but excited at the slow blaze that fills them both in the languorous pace upward.

  Then a throat clears directly behind him.

  The stronghold of lust over him dies in its place. His body feels heavy but it all screeches to a stop, weighing through him like his blood has turned into metal.

  His senses are fuzzy, turning his vision hazy and off-kilter. Becky doesn’t stop. She's kissing him, pulling at his bottom lip to come back down to where she is and continues.

  What the fuck’s she doing?

  “I said what the hell is going on here?"

  “Officer,” he swallows. He’s in serious need of air. It seems to have been vacuumed up between the both of them. “We, uh, got a little…” He shakes his head, hoping the older man will just understand and walk the other way.

  He feels Becky's kisses skim his jaw, a moist tickle touches his pulse point. His hand comes around her head, molding to the shape of her skull, tugging gently as he smiles apologetically at the law enforcer. “Sweetie.” He looks down, gives her a chaste kiss as his eyes beam a silent warning. “Honey, the nice policeman is here… We should probably—”

  “There's a motel down the block. This here is a family place of business, mister."

  “Of course.” Colt has never heard himself sound so polite. “Officer.” He smiles in a congenial way that conveys to the police officer the extent of his embarrassment. It's the last thing he feels even though he’s caught-off-guard by the sharp turn from white-hot passion to cold, hard reality. “Thank you."

  “Mmhmm.” The officer's lips pucker out in an unforgiving pout. “See that you're on your way."

  Relief backs up on Colt as he bends, shaking his head at the retreating cop strolling back to his squad car. He mutters a curse, his eyes close, remembering that his body is still very much entangled with hers.

  He freezes, suddenly awkward in the intimate position they’ve been led to. “Becky—”

  His eyes open just as her head stretches up to meet his. He thinks she’s going to kiss him again, but something about the way her eyes blacken and her nostrils flare...

  He knows he's entering a world of hurt then.

  Her lips trap his bottom one and she bites down so hard, Colt immediately feels the coat of hot liquid seep into his gums. He pulls at the back of her hair but she doesn’t relent. In his peripheral vision he can see the cop car pulling out, backing up and then going straight until the tail lights fade onto the side street. The second he’s no longer in sight Becky lets go.

  “The fuck—”

  “Get off me.” She shoves at his chest. “You ever try something like that again and you're walking away a eunuch. You got that?"

  He ignores the flush in her cheeks and separates himself from her. "I'm not the one who started this,” he says, wiping the blood from his lip. He tips his bloody finger at her, his eyes narrowing. “Cute." Smearing the warm liquid on his jeans he scowls.

  “Problem?” She stands, or at least tries to stand, slightly off balance as she leans a hand against the ground and then straightens to her full height, slowly. “You practically molest me and I'm supposed to just lay there and take it?"

  “I had to think fast. He was right there thanks to you and your big fucking mouth. You ever pull a stunt like that again..."

  She marches past him heaving short breaths from her chest like her lungs can’t quench itself with enough air. “Screw you and your threats. I'm not afraid of you anymore. How can I be when I already know what you'r
e capable of."

  Stuck in place the lingering rage in him resurfaces, replacing whatever misguided attraction has been confusing him. He turns to catch up with her and in one quick swoop he slices his arm through the loophole of the shopping bag. It takes only a few long strides before he's at her side, yanking her elbow so she has to face him.

  “Don't push me, Becky,” he threatens, stabbing a finger near her face. “You'll regret it."

  “I really don't care what—”

  “If I have to”—his voice rises above hers—“I'll cuff you to the goddamn wheel."

  “You wouldn't dare."

  "Tempt me,” he says, his voice deepening. “Now get in the car."

  Her eyes drop to his mouth. He can feel the small red blotch on his lips beginning to crust over. When she looks up at him he can’t help but stare at her lips.

  “I hope you're not waiting for me to apologize because I won't."

  “I wasn't,” he replies. “Move.” He tips his head at the truck.

  Her eyes roll. “Is that the only way you know how to talk? Ordering people around?"

  “I'm in charge,” he clarifies. “What I say goes."

  Moving her aside he unlocks the door and pushes her toward it. When she stays in her place he gently nudges her until she’s tripping over the ledge. She slaps his hand away stomping on the ledge. He slams the door on her just when she opens her mouth to curse at him again and gets into the passenger side.

  When he throws the bag on the floor next to him, she says, “That must get old really fast." His eyebrow rises partially, his eyes fix on searching the immediate area. "Always ignoring my questions," she mutters. She rummages for the keys clearly not remembering she’d thrown them at him. When she turns he’s sitting there, the keys held out, his eyes still scanning like a radar around the vicinity of the SUV.

  She swipes the keys from his hand, pulls back and shoves it into the ignition as she says, “Sorry about the lip,” she smirks. "You bring out the absolute best in me."

  His answer steps in time with hers, “I can tell."

  She shakes her head; the deafening silence escalates.

  “Well, two can play at that game. Now you know." She turns and locks eyes with his.

  “The hell does that mean?”

  “Before…” she answers, her voice less sure, “…on the grass. Don't think it's your skills that had me pawing at you like that."

  His stare doesn’t back down. “Wasn't it?"

  She scoffs at him, turning back onto the highway. “Hardly. I can lie too if I have to, you know. You're not the only one who knows how to manipulate a situation."

  He faces the open highway again. “Okay." The smirk that plays across his mouth dissolves whatever anger he’s holding on to. Her words amuse him and his actions—reactions for that matter—seem to be having the opposite effect on her.

  “What does that mean?” she asks.

  He licks his lips slowly. “What does what mean?” He's knows he’s pulling her loathsomeness for him in ten opposite directions.

  “You don't think I was acting back there?"

  “I know you weren't.” His eyes skim her face before going down for a sweet and torturous trail of her body. “Believe me. I know."

  Switching her attention back to the road she tries to come back at him. “You don’t know anything."

  “Right,” he drawls.

  She shakes her head. “You got me all figured out, don't you?” she murmurs. “No, I mean it. You're right. You had me pegged from the second you met me. You knew what to say, what to do to get me to help you. I didn't know I was so easy to read and here I thought I was hiding myself, keeping everything bottled up inside so no-one could know how I really feel, so no-one could get to me… And then you came along.” She laughs, hollowly. “You came along and knew exactly what buttons to push. You must have laughed so much when I stupidly believed that this made-up gang was after you. Me. Gullible stupid me, helping the guy who was sent to kill my own father! God, that must have been so entertaining for you. All those hours you spent up there thinking about what an idiot I was... The broken girl confessing all—"

  “I didn't… I mean, I wasn't..." He sighs. She isn't listening to him. His words are bouncing right off of her. He can’t blame her.

  “How much longer?"

  “Becky—”

  “How much longer?” she asks, her voice straining. When she sneaks a glimpse his way he can’t hide the regret in his eyes. “Don't,” she warns.

  Looking away he says, “Keep going straight till you hit exit 94.”

  The muscle of his jaw clenches and he looks out onto the open road where their endless journey seems to never end.

  Redemption will never be in his cards.

  * * *

  “I DON’T GET IT.”

  When Colt had mentioned the word ‘cabin’ she'd imagined logs stacked together next to a tree stump with an axe chopped down the center like something out of a Chainsaw Massacre movie.

  “What’s the catch?”

  There is a dense patch of forest behind them but it's the only part of the cabin-style vision she was on target about. The place is enormous and surrounded by luscious green grass and hilltops. There is no dark, dank trees or scary dirt path that winds into more frightful unknowns...

  She looks at the panoramic windows at the back and can’t stop her jaw from gaping at the small bridge that leads to a private lake. This is a luxurious getaway; not a place for one to be held against their will.

  She follows Colt inside and watches him open one of the many doors, hauling the shopping bag onto the floor. When he doesn’t respond she’s glad, hoping he hasn’t heard her. They haven’t spoken after the kiss. She’s too scared and nervous to say anything. And Colt, he’s too busy being his usual introspective, cold-hearted self.

  It unsettles Becky how up and down they are with one another. One second they’re hot in-your-face snarling and the next, neither seems to gather up enough courage to even look at each other. And the kiss hasn't helped to relieve the tension.

  God, the kiss...

  She looks at his mouth, the small cut on the side of his bottom lip. If possible, it makes him look more menacing.

  More deadly beautiful.

  Clearing her throat she makes an awkward, strained sound. “So... where’s the basement?"

  He heads deeper into the cabin and when he finally decides to answer her he’s speaking from somewhere behind her. “Why?"

  “I just… I don't… Where's the basement?”

  “There… is none,” he replies, peering at her as if she’s lost her mind. “Why?"

  “Well,” she shrugs, “where am I going to stay? I mean, where are you going to lock me up?"

  There is no misreading the insult that reaches his eyes. “Your room's off to the kitchen.” He stomps around her, pointing in the general direction of the facilities. She follows, leaning a foot into the living-room to see the small shadowed hallway that branches out from the large shiny kitchen.

  “There's a connecting bathroom so...” His shoulder's lift and he appears almost awkward in his movements. “…you don't have to worry."

  His awkwardness bleeds off into her. She’s his hostage, his captive, his leverage, as he delicately put it, but standing in the middle of this luxurious cabin, physical danger is the last thing she feels.

  “Where are we?"

  “Aston."

  “Aston?"

  “Yeah. Ladysmith Valley, Aston, to be exact? We're right on the border of—”

  “Canada,” she finishes.

  “Yeah.” He jams his hands in his pocket and walks away only to lean against the eating counter that separates the kitchen and living-room. Becky is almost positive he moved away on purpose. Like he needs the distance.

  It makes her nervous.

  “I think I'm going to get some sleep,” she says, hurrying past him, needing to get some space.

  He straightens before she makes it two feet
. “We need to talk about a few things first." Her eyes are shuffling everywhere but at him. “This here, is a small town. We won't be bothered.” When he says 'we', her eyes jump back to his and he stops talking for a moment. He falls back-on-track the second they feel the thick silence grow between them. “I, uh, don't know how long this is going to be but do as I say it'll be easier. For both of us." She remains silent. “It's your choice. This can be hard or not, it's up to you. I need you to do what I say when I say it and trust me—”

  That gets her talking. “No. How can I ever trust you?"

  “You don't have a choice.” He pushes against the hard countertop and approaches her. “You're here, because of me. You're alive, because of me. And the only way you're gonna stay that way is if you trust me."

  “Trust isn't a light switch you turn on and off," she scoffs. "I'm not safe because of you, Colt! I'm in danger because I believed you! My life is at stake because I'm being held against my will by a hit man. Do you think I bumped my head and plain forgot that?"

  He rubs the back of his shoulder. “You're alive… Things could’ve gone down real differently if—”

  “If the cops didn't show up.” Her anger rocks the level of her voice. “Spare me the hero bullshit. I'm not as naïve as you'd like to believe I am. I grew up a long time ago… Maybe I saved your life because I had no choice, because the thought of you living seemed a whole lot nicer than having you put a bullet in my brain for not helping you. You want to think I'm some saint—fine. Maybe that's what you wanted to see in me but I know what I saw yesterday and I know you were there to kill my father. Turning it into some martyring act is just plain pathetic."

  “You so sure?” He backs her into the hallway wall. His dark presence looms over her like a willow tree at dusk. “Are you that positive of what you believe or you just afraid to trust me?"

  She gulps, cloaking her fear and listening to the evasive word play as he skitters the real issue. “You want to talk about trust?” Her shoulders lift, her eyes narrow. “Okay. Lets talk about it. You want me to trust you so bad then tell me why you came to my house yesterday to kill my family! Why you think—”