Chapter 6 #2
I’m not rattling that sort of information off when I don’t know who’s down here with us. The shadows are deep enough that there are countless places a would-be attacker could hide.
“Shouldn’t you call Falchard or something and find out if this is even the best place for us to be?”
“When someone is shooting, there are no safe places to be, besides out of the firing line. Let’s just stick to the plan in place. We can adapt if new information emerges. Right now no one is finding you, because I’m standing right next to you and I can barely pinpoint your location.”
“I’m here,” he says, clasping my hand. “Do you mind if I hold your hand, Kira?”
“Uh! I guess if it makes you feel safer?”
His hand is warm in mine, as we work along the rows of parked cars and limousines.
Before this job, I always imagined limos just cruised the streets, or evaporated, or something while the beautiful ones who get to ride in them were about their business.
Seeing row upon row of them in a parking lot seriously detracts from the glamour.
As the minutes pass and there’s no sight or sound of any other person, it gets harder to believe there’s a threat out there lurking.
We pass by a fenced off area that houses the hotel bins and recycling.
Crates upon crates of empty beer bottles are stacked in unstable looking towers.
“It’s like something out of a zombie flick,” I observe.
Dylan grunts disgustedly. “Is that supposed to help put me at ease, cause all the zombie flicks I’ve seen inevitably feature people getting eaten, and not in the sexy sense.”
He’s more jumpy than I realised, but I suspect there’s a lot that goes on in Dylan Drake’s head that the world isn’t privy to.
“Are you sure the car’s even in this blinking lot?” Dylan mutters. There’s a tremor in his words that’s echoed inside his flesh. I can feel his pulse beating in his fingertips. “Is there another level?”
“Not according to the schematics. Hang in there. It’s going to be all right.” I give his hand a squeeze and he freezes.
Then inexplicably, he’s shaking me off and backing away from me, like it’s me he’s scared of and not whoever the hell it is that’s running around with the gun.
“Dylan, what he fuck!” My eyes are adjusted to the dark, but visibility beyond a couple of metres remains shockingly poor. “What’s the matter?”
“You. You’re the fucking matter. What the fuck are you doing to me?” He stumbles away from me until he collides with the wall, then he backs up until he’s wedged into the corner. “What are you doing to me, Kira?” His hands pull at the inky strands of his hair, and his eyes are wide with fear.
What am I doing to him? Rescuing him, I hope. I even tell him as much, which just twists his face into a deeper scowl. “My assignment brief says I’m to protect you, so that’s what I’m doing. We’ll get out of here, Dylan.”
There’s more than a touch of vehemence in his eyes as he shakes his head dismissing the idea that’s my true purpose.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. We’re not talking about your job, but what you are doing to me.”
“I have no idea what that might be,” I say carefully. It’s the truth. “Dylan, I think you’re in shock. You’re not making sense. I need you to hold it together for me a little longer until I can get you somewhere you can lie down.”
Shit! Maybe he got injured without realising it. The only way I can definitely rule that possibility out is to get close to him. I approach making sure to telegraph each step so as not to surprise him. He still raises his hands as if to ward me off.
“Oh Jeezus.” He packs himself tighter against the concrete wall. “Stop it. Don’t.”
“Stop what?”
“This. Everything. The way you’re looking at me. Don’t look at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?”
His fingers rake through the dark tumble of curls that frame his narrow face, then his hand falls to his side as if it’s too heavy to hold up. “Stop it!”
“If I knew what it was that I’m supposed to stop.”
“You know.”
“Dylan, I don’t.”
He raises his hand, palm facing me, fingers stretched. “Stay back.” His lips twist into a vexatious pout.
“Dylan, I can’t do that. I think you might be injured. I need to find out. Once I’ve done that, we can refocus on getting you out of here and back to your hotel.”
“I’d really prefer it if you didn’t come any closer.” He tries to back up, but he’s already in the corner.
“Dylan, I’m not the person you need to be worried about. I’m trying to help you.”
He huffs, and stares at me as if I’ve grown a second head.
“Lady, you’re the only person I need to be worried about.
You’re the one who’s been driving me demented all night.
You’re the one who has me cornered, and who’s so determined to save me.
Will you please, for God’s sake, stop looking at me like that? ”
“Like—” I mean to say “what?” but Dylan cuts me off by covering my mouth with his fingers.
This close to him, I concede the panic in his eyes is genuine, but I don’t comprehend its cause. He doesn’t appear to be injured as I feared might be the case. “How do you imagine I’m looking at you?”
“This way,” he pants. “Like you’re about to swallow me…or eat me…or fuck me.” A shiver rolls right though him as he says the last, and finally I start to unravel his fear.
“We both know none of those things are going to happen. Why would they? I don’t force myself on men who aren’t interested, and you’re gay.”
“That’s right,” he insists, and his tongue makes a nervous sweep across his dry lips.
The light from the little LED torch catches the sheen of moisture left behind.
Dylan Drake has the most gorgeously kissable lips.
They are perfectly curved, soft and giving, and absolutely capable of delivering incredible pleasure.
But the one taste I stole earlier is the only one I intend to claim, no matter how much I wish I could say otherwise.
Fact is, he’s hot, and I want to eat him up with more than my gaze.
“Kira.”
“What?”
“What are you doing?”
He asks that a lot. The thing is, I’m not even aware that I’m leaning into him until he frantically points it out, but then I’m not the only one of us whose body is tilted forward, and whose lips are eagerly parted.
Dylan’s head is bowed so that it’s on a level with mine.
He’s a tall man, but then I’m a tall woman.
The tip of his tongue makes another sweep across his lips, while our gazes become tightly locked.
“I know what I am.”
“Yes,” I agree.
“I’m not attracted to women.”
“Mm-huh!” Yet we’re still drawing closer, as if there’s an invisible force between us. Any moment, we’re going to snap together like two bar magnets when their poles align.
I inhale sharply when he touches my face, shocked as hell. Though maybe not as shocked as he is, when his thumb then finds its way to my lips.
“What is this, Kira?”
Madness. A monumental cock up waiting to happen. Heartbreak guaranteed. Take your pick, they’re all lousy options.
“You tell me.”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked. You broke something when you barged into my room. You did something to my brain. I feel like I’ve been wired incorrectly ever since.”
“I was never a good electrician.”
The quip is lost on him. He’s too deep into the moment.
“After we get out of here, I never want to set eyes on you again. It’s too awkward, too confusing.” He shakes his head, as if to contradict himself. “It’s too crazy. I’m not crazy. I know who I am.”
“Do you?” I ask, not to be mean, but because right now I’m not sure he’s as clear on that point as he likes to pretend.
I do know who I am. I’m Kira Carter-Wells, a woman with a long-standing crush on this man—a man whom I know can never be mine, but the thing about desire is that it isn’t always logical, and rarely adheres to the rules we make ourselves.
I swore to myself this evening that I was going to do my job and nothing but my job, but it seems I’m about to prove myself a liar.
I lean in and take the decision making from him. It’s on my head now. It’s my responsibility to keep him out of trouble. To keep him safe, but I’ve wanted what is right in front of me too long and too desperately to pass up on the chance to grab it when it’s offered.
Our bodies slam together and lock tight, held by that invisible magnetic force. His hands go up around the back of my neck and into my hair, holding me so that he can further fuse our lips, then slip me the tip of his tongue.
I don’t think I’ve ever kissed for so long or so hard.
Dylan is hard, and getting harder. I shift so that it’s no longer my leg he’s pressed against— Yes, just there.
Right there—and he groans right into my mouth.
Maybe I groan too, because it’s good. It’s so good.
It’s everything I’ve wanted and more. His touch, the brush of his skin with only the faintest trace of stubble, the tight claw-like grip of his fingers on the back of my neck, like he’s holding me in case I freak and run away.
Only, of the two of us, I’m the less likely one to bolt.
It’s rough and deep and frantic. We assault one another with tongues and fingers.
A deep throb awakens in my pussy. It aches to be filled, to have him fill me.
I’m wet. I’m so damn wet for him, and I want so much more than this nonsensical tongue battle.
We’re still in the dark, and there’s no one around.
Every whisper of motion echoes around this hanger.
Besides, the wail of sirens in the distance reassures me that things are being handled.