To Have and to Heist(70)

“Is there any other information I need to know that would put me or the crew at risk? Were you in a relationship with Bella? Did you have some kind of failed business dealing with Mr. Angelini or his wife? Is there some bigger personal issue in play?”

I felt a brush of heat against my upper lip, a soft touch at the corner of my mouth, and then the rough graze of bristles against my throat. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Who are you? Really?” My breath shuddered through me as he teased my mouth open. I’d been kissed before—many times, if you were wondering—but I hadn’t known there was so much to feel, so many sensations to be discovered by the simple joining of lips.

“Jack,” he murmured thickly against my mouth. “I can’t tell you any more.”

And then there was nothing but the rapid beat of his heart, the scent of his skin, the taste of whiskey on his tongue, the strong fingers caressing my breast in a constant quiet motion that turned me to jelly.

“Jack.” His name was a groan on my lips. “What else are you keeping from me?”

“Nothing that could hurt you. I would never let anything happen to you. If you trust anything, trust that.”

My mind went blank, the last of my thoughts fading away to be replaced by the desperate need to lose myself in this man, to drop all my defenses and surrender to the electric passion that sparked and crackled between us.

I lifted myself up on my toes, threaded my hands through his hair, and kissed him hard, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. The pressure of emotion, of frustration, of fear and loneliness and longing that had been building inside me all day—my whole life—demanded release, raw, hot, and wild.

Our mouths clashed, tongues tangled. I didn’t care who he was—cop or criminal, good or bad, dangerous or just a man of mystery. I wanted him with every inch of my being, every part of my soul.

He broke our kiss to push my hands above my head, bracketing my wrists, holding them firm against the window, and then he was everywhere. Warm. Solid. His lips on my skin. His hand on my body. His fervent, urgent need mirrored by my own.

“I want to touch you,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “I’ve imagined taking off your clothes, running my hands over every inch of your naked body . . .”

I lifted my eyes to his. He was breathing hard, longing etched in every angle of his face. “Do it. Touch me.”

Before I could draw in a breath, he kissed me again. Hard and fast. Rough and demanding. I gasped and arched back, and as I did, his hand slid into my shirt, unhooking my bra, then moving to cup my breast. I moaned as his tongue roughly explored my mouth, his hand gently squeezing.

“So soft,” he said as he pulled my shirt and bra over my head. Arms released, I sank my fingers into his thick hair and pulled him down. He brushed his mouth over my nipples, teasing one then the other into tight peaks. “So beautiful,” he whispered.

My blood pulsed between my legs. I wanted him—desperately—in a way I’d never wanted any other man before. If someone interrupted us this time, what I’d done to Mario would be nothing compared to what I would do to them.

His fingers skimmed around the waistband of my skirt, then he slowly unzipped it, letting it drop to the floor. I trembled as he knelt in front of me, trailing featherlight kisses between my breasts, over my belly, to the elastic edging of my faded, blue-striped cotton briefs.

“I didn’t come here expecting . . . this,” I said when he hesitated.

“I didn’t expect you to come at all.” He eased my underwear over my hips, looked up, and caught my gaze. “But I hoped.”

We had sex for hours—against the door, on the couch, in the shower, and on the thick shag rug in front of the gas fireplace under the glow of the city lights. When we ran out of furniture, Jack wanted to have sex against the floor-to-ceiling window. At first, I demurred. With my luck, one of my relatives would happen to be in the building across the way with a telescope, and two days later I’d be walking down the aisle of shame with the desperate dermatologist.

Jack changed my mind. He changed my mind about a lot of things.

After the window—10/10, by the way; highly recommend—we staggered up to his palatial bed. I allowed Jack to have his way with me since he promised he’d do all the work and I could have all the orgasms. It was a kind gesture and very much appreciated since my failure to commit to a morning workout routine had left me lacking in the stamina department.

Many orgasms later, I lay across his chest and lightly traced the scars that marred his tanned skin. “What are these?” There were circular scars, long thin scars, white scars, and scars with nasty red edges.

“Took a few shots,” Jack said. “Couple of stab wounds. No big deal.”

“You’re in a dangerous business.”

“Life is a dangerous business.” He leaned down to kiss me, and then slid his hand under the sheet. “You know what’s really dangerous?”

“Wolves?” I teased.

“You.”

He clearly didn’t want to talk. He wanted to touch. Everywhere. Until he brought me to the brink again and again and again.

Twenty

Later, languid and completely spent, we lay in the dark listening to the steady hum of traffic.

“Your chest makes a good pillow,” I said, snuggling up beside him.