“Freesia and a bit of peony. I helped my cousin with some transplanting. Too much damp and peonies suffer botrytis blight.” He released my hand and traced his finger along the edge of my jaw.
I tilted my head to give him better access to my lips. Touching was nice but kissing was better. I would have made a move, but I didn’t trust my aim. Everything was still a little fuzzy.
“You missed a good party,” I said. “I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. Did you know that Anil has a photographic memory? Or that he can multiply six-digit numbers in his head? He was also a spelling bee champion.”
“Useful skills in a heist.” He brushed my hair back, tucking it behind my ear, his fingers so gentle a soft shudder worked its way through my body. If he’d asked me at that moment to take off my clothes, I would have done it without hesitation.
“Emma knows a lot of people who’ve done a lot of interesting things.” I talked so I didn’t have to think, so I could live in this quiet intimate moment and just feel. “She told us she spent some time in prison. It wasn’t her crime, but she took the fall for her sister, and then her sister turned around and stabbed her in the back.”
“People are who they are.” His fingertip skimmed lightly along my throat and down the vee of my shirt to stroke the crescents of my breasts. My skin rippled with shivers.
“Who are you?” I shifted closer, pressing my body against his. “I don’t know much about you. Not even your last name. I’m pretty sure it isn’t really Danger.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
We lay with our foreheads touching, breathing as one. Jack put his hand on my hip, slowly traced the curve of my waist.
“I know you like literature,” I offered, gently prodding. “You also love plants. You’ve got underworld connections. You had a thing with Clare. You’re a great dancer, and you look sexy both in a tux and a leather jacket.”
“You think I’m sexy?” His jaw tightened, fingers digging deeper into my hip as if he were willing himself to hold back.
“I just said so.” I ran my fingers over his cheek, the rough stubble on his jaw.
Jack caught my hand and brought it down to rest on his chest. “How sexy?” His lips moved along my jaw, feathering kisses to my ear. My body melted into his until I couldn’t tell where I ended, and he began.
“Kiss me and I’ll tell you.”
Jack leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips, going from teasing to demanding so quickly, it was like a dam had broken inside him. Everything fell away except the crush of his lips against mine, the heat of his body, and his firm hand holding me still as he ravished my mouth.
Yes, ravished. There was no other word for it. His tongue slid between my teeth, and he stroked every inch of my mouth, tasted the full swell of my lips, drank me down like he was dying of thirst.
My hands went to his head, holding him still as he moved above me. Bracing himself on his forearms, he spread my legs wide with his knees and settled his hips against mine, his hard length a delicious pressure where I needed him most.
I slid my hands through his hair and kissed him until I could barely breathe.
“God, I want you,” he whispered against my mouth.
“You can have me.” I slid my hand beneath his shirt, palm against his heated skin. “What part of this suggests I want to stop?”
He pulled away, breaking our connection with a groan. “Not now. Not like this.”
“This isn’t the time to start being a gentleman.”
“I’ve never been a gentleman,” he said, rolling onto his back. “But you deserve more, and I can’t destroy everything I’ve worked for. It would end me.”
I’d never had a man declare that sex with me would end him. I’d also never been left in such a state of painful desire that I wanted to scream. My skin burned and I ached all over.
“Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds,” I said, desperate for a distraction from the throbbing between my legs.
“Oppenheimer?”
“That’s what most people think, but it’s actually from the Hindu sacred text the Bhagavad Gita. It’s a conversation between a great warrior prince called Arjuna and his charioteer Lord Krishna, an incarnation of Vishnu.”
“Am I the great warrior prince in this story?” He stared at the ceiling, hands clenched at his sides, teeth gritted. I was pretty sure it wasn’t because he hoped he was the prince.
“Do you need absolution for doing your duty even if it goes against your personal moral code?”
“Yes.” One word. Heavy with emotion. It hung there between us, a tiny beacon to the darkness inside him.
“Then you can be Arjuna.” I edged over to him, lay my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me, his fingers settling into the curve of my waist. I sighed and snuggled closer.
“I think I’d make a good warrior prince,” he said. “I’m strong, brave, loyal, and I can ride a horse. I’d look good in armor, and I already steal from the rich and give to the people.”
“You’re confusing warrior princes with Robin Hood,” I pointed out. “But Robin Hood did have a band of Merry Men and an evil foe, the Sheriff of Nottingham.” I lifted my head to look at him. “Do you have an evil foe?”
His body tensed beneath me, his hand curling into a fist on my waist. “Yes.”
“He also had a lover, Maid Marian,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“That’s you.” He relaxed, muscles softening, hand back to stroking, lips pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.
“Maid Marian wasn’t denied a good time when Robin Hood came to lie with her in Sherwood Forest,” I pointed out, still hoping for a miracle.
“Maid Marian didn’t get so drunk, she passed out on the floor,” he retorted. “What kind of noble hero takes advantage of a woman whose ability to consent is dubious at best?”
“I know what I want.” I buried my face into his chest. His shirt was soft, his body warm, his arm heavy against my back.
“I want to give it to you, sweetheart. But not like this.”
He stroked my back, my hair, my cheek. My tension eased and I relaxed into his embrace. “Give me a minute.” I closed my eyes. “I just need a quick nap.”
When I opened them again, he was gone.
Fourteen
Thanks to a friend of a friend, Emma showed up at Rose’s house the next morning in an unmarked white van.
“Why are all the windows blacked out?” Cristian didn’t look like a man who had been jumping on tables and rolling on the grass a mere twelve hours ago. He was perfectly groomed, immaculately dressed, and he didn’t even look like he was suffering the kind of hangover that was making my head pound like it was caught in a middle school drum. His T-shirt cause for the day was Save the Animals and his tan shirt had a cute pawprint on the chest.
“Privacy.” Emma pushed the door aside, showing off the interior as if it were a prize in a game show. “The seats can be removed to carry heavy goods.”
“Or bodies,” I offered. “If we wanted to get into the serial killer business, this is exactly the kind of van they use.”