13. Kitten #2
"I’m going to get in, Kitten.” He takes the last step separating us. “It’s only a matter of time and you’re the one who’s going to decide how hard it needs to be.”
He sets one hand flat on the shelf beside my head, boxing me in, and the long line of his body is only inches away from mine. I can feel the heat radiating from him.
"You’re going to have to find another door, Ian.”
“There isn't a better one, and we both know it." His voice is a lie. But it sounds reasonable and warm. He runs a finger along my jaw.
"There are people in this town who would be fascinated by Portland. The whole story. Your part in it."
“I didn’t have any part in it,” I shout and try to step around him.
He puts his other hand up beside me on the bookshelf, keeping me trapped. "Such hostility.”
"I'm not doing it," I say flatly. "I won't have anything to do with your project. I won't soften one word of what I think of it. You will not win over this town through me."
He tips his head down and breathes against my neck. "This town is dying, Kitten. You know that better than anyone.”
His breath moves over my shoulder. “You patch up its old men and you watch its young ones pack up and leave.”He pulls back, his lips hovering inches over mine.
“I'm offering this town a pulse. Jobs. Growth.
A future. And the one person who could help me give them that would rather hold a grudge from another life. "
I turn my head. "I'd rather hold a grudge than help you gut it for parts. I've seen your pulse, Ian. I helped sell it last time. I know exactly what's left in store for the town when you're done with it."
He smiles, delighted to get the rise out of me, and the delight is the worst part.
He leans into my ear and whispers. "You know what I always loved about you, Kitten?”
He starts to kiss down my neck and press into me. “Your passion."
And here is the thing, don’t hate me, because I will hate myself for it enough tonight for the both of us.
I don't hear the threat. I feel him. All of him, the old familiar electricity courses through me as his body presses against mine, his heat even through his clothes. My nipples harden so tightly they hurt as he presses the hard length of his cock into my hip.
It has no business being there, but my body aches remembering when it did.
The nights we never slept, his hot breath against my skin, the feel of moving together, skin on skin.
My mind remembers he was the best I ever had, that he knew the map of me and used all of it, that wanting him was the easiest thing I have ever done.
His thigh eases between mine and my head bends back, offering full access to my throat that he takes with greed. And I hear my past self sigh yes before I realize what’s happening. His hands move over my breasts and the buttons of my shirt and I start to arch up to meet him.
He’s so warm, and so sure, and we have been here a hundred times and I let him every single time.
The wanting is right there, eight years deep and waiting.
My breath goes thin. He feels the give in me, the half-inch I lean toward him instead of away, and his mouth comes down on mine hard, and I am not stopping him.
That's the horror of it.
My body wants the memories.
I am one breath from turning my face up and handing this man the rest of me on the strength of a memory eight years dead.
I close my eyes.
And I’m not with Ian.
It's Doc.
The supply room. The storm, my back against the shelving and his arms around me, his body moving in me slow and certain, with no other agenda other than wanting me.
No price.
My eyes fly open and I pull back.
This is what Ian was counting on, what he always counted on, the raw pull that is the sexual spell he exudes.
The spell tears loose and I press my palm flat on his chest and shove. He gives way easily, smiling wickedly because he knows he got to me.
That’s the part that makes me sick.
He got through my front door, into my head, and for ten seconds he almost had me out of my jeans on nothing but the ghost of who he used to be.
"There’s my kitten," he says softly, brushing my hair back from my face.
I slap his hand away. "Get away from me."
He steps back, hands up, easy, the gentleman sliding smoothly back over the wolf.
"You think that worked," I say. "You think forcing me into a kiss against a bookcase reminds me of anything more than how stupid I used to be."
"I think you kissed me back and wanted it. We both felt it." He isn't even smug about it, which is infuriating.
God, I hate that he was right.
"What do you want, Ian? Just say the actual words."
"You wouldn't have to do much," he says, reasonable now, gentle. "Just stop making it hard. Or the good people of Coupeville start asking why their sweet PA gets so worked up about a developer she swears blind she never met."
“I never said I’d never met you.”
"You didn't have to." He smiles.
"The words are ugly. I prefer not to need them." He steps in again, close enough that it takes everything I have not to scream.
"But since you asked. You’re going to stay quiet, or I start talking. It’s as simple as that.”
"Coupeville isn't Portland." I say flatly, and I mean every syllable. "These people watched me grow up. They knew my parents. They know who I am."
"Oh, my funny little kitten. I don’t doubt that at all. In fact, I’m counting on it." He smirks. “Do you really want the story of what happened in Portland coming out here?”
“You see I will tell a very convincing story about Portland and the woman who stood at the heart of it and did nothing. The woman implicated and investigated nine ways to Sunday. And the woman that ended up fleeing, escaping and running back to her little town to lick her wounds and hide from what she did.”
“They will never believe that,” I say. “Willing to gamble this little nest and way of life on it?” His words are smooth and acidic.
“With enough well-placed information put out to a small town, they’ll decide and I won't have to prove one thing, Kitten. You of all people know that.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Now, now, Kitten. You know I can be very convincing, can’t I?" He runs a hand down over my breast and I pull back sharply.
“You wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that. It would ruin you here with the cannery project.”
“There are other towns. Other projects, Kitten,” he says smugly.
“But, you ruin me here, and I’ll make sure I ruin you the rest of your life.” He watches his poison words work their way into me.
I've got nothing to counter.
"There's my smart little kitten," he says, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, unhurried, and then sliding his fingers along my jaw.
"You need to go." It isn't much. It’s all I can get out without my voice shaking.
"I should." His hand runs through his hair. "You could have all of this, you know.”
He takes my hand and presses it over his cock. “Me, the ride, the fun, being the savior of this little town's comeback. People love a local girl who saves the day."
I pull my hand back. "People loved that in Portland too. Right up until they didn't."
Something flickers behind his eyes, gone before I catch it, and for one second I think I've drawn blood.
Then he checks his watch, and just like he’s leaving. "Good to see you, Kitten. I mean that. I'd very much like for us to be wrapped around this together. I’ll be in touch."
Then he's gone. Down the steps, into the rental, taillights swinging out toward the road.
I lock the front door. Then throw the bolt on every French door across the back of the house, one after another.
Coupeville isn't Portland. These people know me. They've known me my whole life.
What if that isn't enough?
What if they believe him?