Chapter 9 #2
“Yes,” I said. “We formed a very tight group. After Shane was kidnapped, we’ve all been working together to find him.
We called ourselves the Unredeemables, back in the day, and it stuck.
Guess we thought it sounded cool and tough, at the time.
” I paused, shook my head grimly. “Funny how the years layer new meanings onto things.”
“You want to redeem Shane,” Kat said thoughtfully. “And you think the Unredeemables name jinxed him?”
I winced. Put that way, it stung me. “I guess. Maybe. It’s silly, but maybe.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “A name can’t jinx you. He’s lucky he has a brother who’s moving heaven and earth to find him.”
“A sister, too,” I said, since I had to give credit where credit was due. “Freya almost got herself killed, trying to get information about what happened to him.”
“You think he’s still alive?”
I stopped breathing for a second, with the clutch of pain that question gave me.
“I have no idea,” I said grimly, although I did. God help me, I did.
There was no reason to think that Shane was still alive. There were plenty of reasons to conclude that he was dead. But until I saw his body with my eyes, I would choose to have hope. It made it easier to breathe.
“You said you thought the guys in the elevator were coming for you,” I said again, just to change the subject. “Who are you fighting with?”
She was silent for a moment. “You don’t get access to all my secrets just because I let you touch me, Masters,” she said coolly. “And with Shane, and your bad guys, you’ve got enough on your plate. Don’t even ask about my problems.”
“At the risk of pissing you off, I have to remind you that my enemies saw you fight at my side,” I said. “Now they will identify you as their enemy. Please factor this into your decision-making processes. Don’t ignore it because it irritates you.”
She grunted. “I promise to factor it in if you promise to shut up about it.”
I laughed, and stopped in front of the big, carved door. “What’s this?” she asked. “Your bedroom? Should I prepare myself? Will the angels sing when the door opens?”
I punched the security code into the pad, trying not to smile. Hah. Tough babe. The more nervous she felt, the snarkier she became. But she would never admit to fear.
My curiosity was sharp, but now was not the time to press her. “Time will tell,” I said. “I’ll do my utmost to make the angels sing for you until their throats crack.”
“Brave words,” she murmured.
“Would you be interested in any other kind?”
She snorted. “Come on, let’s get this angelic concert started. Open the door.”
The room had two towering walls of glass looking out over the mountain range and a glowing sunset.
I liked my big open spaces, so the room was huge, with very little furniture.
Wood paneling, heavy beams, gleaming plank flooring.
A huge bed with a silver-gray patterned spread.
A simple sand-colored rug next to it. A soft easy chair facing the window, a floor lamp.
A bedside table. A deep-colored Persian rug in the open, empty side of the room.
No other furniture. My clothes were in an adjoining room.
She looked around with a nod of approval. “I might have known you’d be a minimalist.”
“I like to keep it simple,” I said. “It’s soothing.”
Her lips curved, as she spun around, admiring the room, the view. “Soothing, huh?” she murmured. “Simple? I sure hope you don’t expect that from me. I am not a soothing or simple person.”
I opened my mouth to tell her that I didn’t expect anything from her, but the words froze in my throat as she whipped off the loose blue cashmere sweater and tossed it away, tousling her hair over her face.
Her eyes were glowing, a topaz gold so bright they seemed backlit by the sunlight. She was wearing a simple white bra.
“Not soothed,” I croaked out. “Don’t want to be.”
“That’s fortunate,” she said, reaching back with that twist and arch that showed how strong and flexible she was. She undid the bra, and tossed it at the sweater.
A breath hissed audibly out of my mouth.
Holy fuck, she was beautiful. Her breasts were high and tight and beautiful.
Dark pink, puckered nipples. Shoulders proudly back.
Gorgeously strong, lithe, and graceful. The body of a pro athlete, except for one puckered scar near her collarbone.
He’d seen too many of those to mistake it.
That was a scar from a bullet.
“You’re really going for it,” I commented. “Maybe slow down a tiny bit?”
A smile flitted across her face. “Nope,” she said. “I could lose my nerve.”
She leaned down to loosen the laces of her athletic shoes, then pried them off, along with the socks.
Tossed then in the direction of the other garments.
Leaving her clad in only the soft black trousers that Freya left at every dwelling she frequented.
Her favorites. They were as soft as yoga pants, but as classy as business pants.
They looked great on Kat. Looser than they were on Frey, so they hung a little lower, showing off the sexy curves at her belly, the dip of her waist, the jut of her hipbone.
Then she yanked them down too, along with her underwear.
Her naked body was so perfect, it was an assault on my eyes. Standing there, chin up, eyes brilliant with defiance. As if she were challenging me to a duel, not seducing me.
She made an impatient gesture. “So? Let’s see what you’ve got, pretty boy.”
Pretty boy? I swallowed a bark of laughter that I strongly sensed would not help my cause, pried off my shoes, and whipped off my sweatshirt. “Is that better?”
“Almost. If you keep at it, we’ll get there eventually.”
I undid my belt. Shoved down my jeans, and kicked them away.
My cock jutted out, hard and heavy and urgent-looking.
It was a little too soon in this seduction to be waving my dick at her, but she’d forced my hand.
I could see her gaze linger on my scars, just as mine had landed on hers.
The gut shot that had ended my Amy Rangers career.
But I hadn’t commented, and she didn’t either.
Her blatant appreciation looked absolutely unfeigned. “Well, look at that,” she said. “I am completely unsurprised. Both that you’ve got a killer body, and that you’ve got a big, gorgeous dick. Hey, you do have latex, don’t you?”
“Of course, but we can slow down a little,” I told her.
“I don’t want to slow down,” she said. “You look like you’re up for it.”
“God, yes. Of course I am. But what’s the rush?”
“What’s the hold-up?” she countered. She grabbed my cock, squeezing it appreciatively. “Mmm. Nice and hot. Stone hard. Why wait?”
“This erection is not going anywhere,” I said, my voice strangled.
Her clever hand twisted, swiveling along my shaft. “I can feel your heartbeat against my hand. Mmm, hot. Shall we go to the bed?”
I grabbed her hand. I was on a hair trigger. Her bold caresses put me on overload. “Hold on.”
“I’m trying to,” she purred, her hand tightening around me.
“We’re going too fast,” I told her. “Let’s put the brakes on.” If I didn’t know how tough she was, I would have read the look in her eyes as fear.
“I’m ready now,” she said.
“But I haven’t even touched you yet,” I said,
“What’s stopping you?” She grabbed my hand, pressing it against her breast. The contact made me gasp. She was perfect. Her skin so hot and baby smooth, her breast so springy soft, her nipple so tight, tickling my palm. I was going to explode.
“You’re scared,” I said.
“The hell I am.” Her voice was sharp. “Why are you being so coy?”
I shook my head. “I just want it to be good for you.”
“So? Come and get it. It’s already good for me. I can hardly breathe. That never happens. Let me capitalize on it while I can.”
I put both hands on her slender waist, and pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her. She stiffened, arching back away from me. She was not ready at all.
“You’re tense,” I said softly. “You have to relax first.”
She laughed. “Aw, crap. Here we go. Have you not been listening, Masters? I don’t do relaxed. It’s not on the menu.”
“Just try,” I coaxed. “Let’s slow way down, and—”
“No,” she blurted. “I can’t. I have to get out ahead of it, if I want to do this.”
“Ahead of what?’’ I asked, mystified.
She pushed me away, frustrated. “If you have to ask, it is not going work.”
“No, no, no.” I grabbed her hand, kissing it. “I just need for you to trust me.”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “You’re asking for the moon.” But she shivered, lips parted, as I kissed her knuckles. Her fingers. Every joint. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“I’ll show you,” I said gently. “Close your eyes.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Not at all,” I said, my voice low and coaxing. “Just follow my lead, Kat. You’re going to love giving me the moon.”