His mouth settled on hers. Her lips were full, soft and paradise just to feel. He was risking everything just to kiss her, and the moment he did, the moment his mouth was on hers, she gave herself to him. Fire. Flames. Passion. They poured into him. She tasted like heaven. Something he’d never experienced. An angel sent to save him, and all she got for her trouble was bruised and scraped flesh.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but kissing her. Taking her taste into his mind, then his body. Setting up an addiction. He was a fucking fool for kissing this woman. He’d known he’d be lost, and he was. Thunder roared in his ears. His blood thickened into molten lava. Electrical sparks seemed to dance over his skin. She tasted like innocence. She tasted like sin. Passion welled up, hot and undeniable. Real. Every single nerve ending that had been dead since he’d been ten years old flared into fiery, hungry predatory need.
Abruptly, he lifted his head. He caught her jaw in his hand, thumb pressing deep. “Look at me, Seychelle.” He waited until those eyes of hers looked straight into his. “Your life is worth far more than a fucking bastard like me. You don’t ever trade it for anyone’s again. You got that? You deserve it all. The white picket fence. The dream. All of it. Don’t throw it away on someone like me. Do you understand?”
She was looking right into his eyes. She had to understand. She had to see him. Right down to his rotted soul. He was a killer, and she couldn’t fail to see that. He wanted her to see him, to see inside, where he never let anyone see. He wanted her to know what she’d saved today. How close she’d come to death for a man who was trained to kill and had been doing so since he was a young child. A man whose first thought was to kill when anyone crossed him. She saved that. Worse, he was a monster. The real deal. She saw that. And still she didn’t flinch. He wanted to shake her.
Instead, Savage’s hold on her face gentled and he touched his lips almost tenderly to hers. He wasn’t going to see her again—not ever. That would be a disaster. He knew her now, knew how soft she was inside. Knew her compassion and her need to save others. He had to stay as far from her as possible. He wasn’t a man who saved lives—he took them, but he would make an exception this one time, even though she saw the monster he never let anyone see unless they were going to die.
* * *
Seychelle took a deep breath and stared at the door. The moment she had put her hands on the man and pushed him to move him out of the way of the truck, she had felt an overwhelming darkness in him. Her heart beat too fast. She couldn’t look away from the door. She didn’t react to men. She just didn’t. Women either. There was something terribly wrong with her. Until him. Until she saw him in motion, running across the street directly in the path of that oncoming truck. She didn’t know why, only that such a beautiful man couldn’t die.
Touching him wasn’t a good idea. Having him lie on the bed in a dark room with her wasn’t a good idea. Kissing him was probably the worst idea of all. He’d moved his hands over her lacerations as if he claimed them—claimed her. It hurt, yet she couldn’t make herself pull away. In some way she wanted him to do it, because she felt even more connected to him. The way he looked at her, touched her, was more intense than she’d ever experienced in her life. For the first time in her life, despite the fact that she was hurting like hell, when he touched her like that, even before he kissed her, she felt herself go damp with arousal.
It was a damn good thing she was never going to see him again.
TWO
Maestro glanced at his watch. “If we’re going to ride to Willits tonight, we’ve got to wrap this up now. Sorry, Czar, but I’m fairly certain the others are going to lose it when they hear her sing, so I don’t want to take the chance of missing out. We’ve got to move.”
For the first time in a very long time, Maestro was enthusiastic about a singer for their band. Keys, Player, Master and Maestro were outstanding with instruments, any kind of instrument. They had incredible gifts and spent time together jamming. They played at the bar Torpedo Ink owned and occasionally at the parties the club threw. They’d been looking for a singer for some time, and Maestro didn’t want to lose the opportunity with this one, which meant she had to be good.
“You need me on the ride?” Savage asked. “Thinkin’ about heading to San Francisco tonight.” Which meant he was going to beat the holy fuck out of someone—most likely a lot of someones. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to lose his mind.