Kidnapped by the Billionaire (19 page)

He gave a harsh laugh. “Help? You? I don't think so, princess. All you need to do is be alive when he comes for you.”

“And then what'll happen? You'll kill him? Is that before or after he kills me or whatever the hell he wants to do with me?”

Elijah lifted his hands, ripping off the gloves. “You keep making the same mistake, Violet. You keep thinking I give a shit about what happens to you. And I don't. All that matters, all that has
ever
mattered, is putting a bullet through that motherfucker's brain.” Fury poured off him, the emotion almost palpable as he threw the gloves carelessly onto the floor.

“Why?” She couldn't stop the question from tumbling out. “What the hell did he do to you?”

Elijah looked at her, and the fury in his black eyes hit her like a blow. “Oh, he didn't do anything. It was your father who destroyed everything.” He took a sudden step toward her, the movement unexpected enough that she backed away, only to be brought up short by the heavy punching bag against her spine. “It was fucking Fitzgerald who took
everything
I cared about away.” He closed what little distance between them there was, his heat and fury pressing down on her like a blast wave from an explosion, his voice low and rough and vicious. “But he's dead and so I have to find some other way to do what needs to be done.”

She found she was pressing herself hard into the unsteady weight of the punching bag, staring up into his eyes. Half of her going still like prey before a relentless hunter, the other half mesmerized by the sheer intensity of him.

Struggling to ignore the heat of his body only inches away, she tried to concentrate on what he was saying. “Dad did this? Did what? I don't understand what—”

His hand flashed out and she flinched, only to feel his fingers grip her jaw tight, tilting her head back. Then he bent, his midnight eyes so close and so dark. “Your father destroyed my life.” Fury roughened the edges of the words. “So I spent the past seven years working my way to destroying his. But now he's dead and the only way to ensure all that work hasn't been a complete fucking waste of time is to take out Jericho.” He paused, staring down into her face. “And if that means using you to do it, then that's what I'll do. It'll be poetic fucking justice. “

A shiver went down her spine, fear curling through her. Okay, so maybe her protestations that she wasn't afraid of him were a bit premature. Because there was no mercy in his expression. No softness at all. Only a hard, burning rage like a perpetual flame inside him.

But there was something else behind it too. Something bleak. Desolate. Lonely.

It pierced her fear, slid through her own anger, and struck deep in her soul. Because it felt familiar. As if she too had that kind of emptiness deep inside her. An emptiness that only wanted to be filled.

She didn't quite know what impulse it was that had her raising her hand and cupping the side of his face. Only that she hated that bleakness, that emptiness. And she wanted to do something about it, ease it somehow. Show him that she understood, that he wasn't alone.

He froze, his eyes going wide at the touch.

Rough stubble lined his jaw, scraping against her palm while the skin of his cheek was smooth and warm. And before she could stop herself, she traced the scar that twisted his mouth with her thumb, shifting her fingers to follow its path up across his cheek, narrowly missing his eye before slashing through one dark brow.

He didn't move and the grip on her jaw didn't lessen. But his eyes glittered, a hurricane in them. “Don't touch me.” There was a raw sound running through the flat command in his words, undermining them like rust through an iron bar. “Don't you dare fucking touch me.”

But he was touching her and that didn't seem fair, so she kept her hand right where it was, stroking her thumb across his mouth again, feeling the softness there. The only thing soft about him.

He made a sound in his throat and suddenly his grip on her jaw tightened even more. Then he closed the distance between them and took her mouth with his.

*   *   *

He hated the way she touched him. Hated how the gentleness of it contrasted so much with the rough way he was holding her. Hated how she was looking at him as if she saw something in him. Something that wasn't there.

Because there
was
nothing there. Nothing but anger and the grief he'd buried so far down he'd forgotten it still existed.

Fuck her and the way she managed to unlock those emotions purely with the touch of her hand. Fuck the way she made him so hungry, when he'd spent so many years excising those hungers from his life completely.

Fuck the way she'd just made him confess how his life had been destroyed, how she'd made him reveal it, because of who she was, because she was Fitzgerald's daughter.

That prick was dead, Elijah couldn't hurt him anymore, but he had Violet. He could take out his rage on her.

Monster. Marie would have gotten out that pearl-handled gun you gave her for Christmas and shot you.

She would. But Marie was dead and so was the man who'd given her that gun.

He was Elijah now. That was the path he'd chosen and he had to walk it to the end.

Violet's hand was gentle on his face, so he gripped her wrist and pulled it away, twisting her arm up behind her back, forcing her up against him. Keeping his grip on her jaw, he pushed his tongue into her mouth, into all that heat and softness, wanting her to protest, to push against him, to fight.

To stop him.

But she didn't. She melted against him instead, her body pressing itself to his, her mouth opening, letting him in, kissing him back just as hot and hungry as he was.

He sunk his teeth into her bottom lip, punishing her for accepting him like this. For not fighting, for wanting it when, if she'd had any sense at all, she should be pushing him away and running from him.

She only shuddered, a low moan coming from her throat. Then she angled her head and bit him back. And he didn't know quite what happened, but something inside him snapped as the sweet, sharp pain of her teeth shot straight to his already hard cock.

He didn't pull away, accepting her nip as he gripped her jaw tightly, exploring deep into her mouth. Sliding his tongue along hers, pouring all his hunger and his anger into her, ravaging her, devouring her.

Years since he'd kissed anyone, years since he'd even wanted to. But this … She tasted so hot, with flavors of mint and coffee, and something sweet that was all Violet. It made him furious because he liked it. Because he wanted more. Because she was drinking him down as if she was desperately thirsty, accepting all his anger, embracing it.

She shouldn't. She really shouldn't.

He jerked his head away from her, looking down into her face. Her eyes were glittering, her pupils dilated. Christ they were the most beautiful color. “You know why I'm doing this, don't you?” he said, not caring how harsh his voice sounded. “It's not because I want you. It's because you're that motherfucker's daughter and since he's dead, taking it out on you is the next best thing.”

He'd said it to hurt her, but it wasn't hurt that crossed her face, but defiance. “Right, so you're taking it out on me with sex. Like I'm going to complain about that.”

His grip on her jaw tightened, and he felt her tremble. “You want me to hurt you? Is that what you want?”

“You won't hurt me.” She was so calm, staring at him as if she could see behind his anger. As if she could see all the dark space inside him. The dark space where everything that made him human had once been.

Since the moment he'd taken her all she'd been doing was pushing his boundaries and taunting him. Provoking him.

And you let her. Because you like it.

“You've got no fucking idea,” he growled, tugging her arm up higher behind her back, forcing her body harder against his.

“Do it then.” Challenge burned in her eyes. “Hurt me, Elijah. Hurt me the way you wanted to hurt my father. I dare you to.”

He should. Because he could break that slender arm of hers, crush that delicate jaw. Make her scream in agony. Make her hurt the way Fitzgerald had made Marie hurt.

But he couldn't do it, he just couldn't bring himself to take that step. Even the thought of it made his skin crawl, made his chest so tight he could barely draw in a breath. And he didn't know what she'd done to him, because conscience was another thing he'd gotten rid of. Another useless part of himself that got in the way of his plans.

How was she doing it? How was she uncovering all these things inside him he was sure he'd cut out long ago?

He had no idea, it didn't make sense, and he was still so fucking angry. But he couldn't hurt her and because he couldn't hurt her, there was only one thing he could do.

He kissed her smart, stubborn mouth again. Harder, deeper. Pouring all his anger into her, all his grief, making her take it. And she didn't flinch. Her lips parted and let him in, her mouth hot and soft and generous, accepting everything he gave her. Taking all that rage and turning it into something else, heat and hunger and need.

She was an alchemist. A witch. She worked magic and he should have been hurling her from him, but all he wanted was to pull her close. Lose himself in her the way he'd been denying himself for so many years.

So he did.

Breaking the kiss, he released her so he could drag that silky green top of hers up and over her head. Violet didn't protest, and she didn't say a word when he reached around her to jerk open the catch of the complicated arrangement of straps and black lace that was her bra. Then that fell away and those small, perfect tits with the pretty pink nipples he'd traced with his thumb were bare before his gaze.

But he didn't stop to look because that wasn't all he wanted.

With a sharp movement, he jerked the expensive leather pants she'd made him buy down her legs, taking the lacy black panties with it. Then he dropped to his knees in front of her, pulling them all the way down and helping her step out of them.

She was naked now, nothing between him and all that silky, bare skin, and he couldn't tear his gaze away. Pretty ankles and long, elegant calves. Soft thighs perfectly framing the golden curls between them. The curve of her hips and the graceful indentation of her waist … so utterly feminine. Reminding him of everything he'd been missing for such a long time.

She stood there motionless, and he could hear the sound of her quickened breathing, watching as goose bumps rose all over that golden skin. He leaned forward and placed his hands behind her ankles, running his palms up the backs of her calves to her knees, then up to her thighs, spreading his fingers out to touch as much as he could of all that warm, smooth bare flesh.

She trembled, her breath catching sharply.

He looked up at her, his palms resting on the swell of her buttocks, the heat of her soaking into his palms, turquoise eyes meeting his, dark with the same hunger that burned inside of him.

“See?” Her voice was roughened and hoarse. “You can't do it, can you? I told you so.” She sounded so confident. Like she knew him. Yet another fucking challenge.

She doesn't know you. She would run from you if she did.

Hell, she'd already done that, hadn't she? She'd run from him just before, only to let herself be taken by him when he'd caught her.

Gently he squeezed the soft flesh in his hands, watching as her pupils dilated, lips parting in a soundless gasp. The heat of her pussy was right there and he could smell her arousal, the musky spicy scent making his mouth water. Christ, he was so hungry. It had been a long, long time since he'd tasted a woman.

He couldn't hurt her, she was right about that. But it didn't mean he couldn't make her scream.

“You don't know me, princess,” he said, low and hard. “You know nothing at all.” And he squeezed those soft buttocks, sinking his fingers into her flesh, drawing a shuddering sound from her as he pulled her in close.

Then he bent his head, nuzzling between her thighs, inhaling the scent of musk and woman, feeling another tremble go through her. Yeah, he was going to make her scream, make her understand that she couldn't fuck with him. That her touch didn't make him feel things he'd thought long dead. That she didn't get to him the way she did, not at all.

He was the one who had the power here. He was the one in charge.

His hands tightened on her butt and he covered that pretty little pussy of hers with his mouth.

Violet went stiff in his hands, a raw sound escaping from her.

Fuck, yes. That's what he wanted to hear.

He licked her, running his tongue up the entire length of her sex then circling her clit in a light, easy stroke, feeling her shudder. God, the taste of her, salty and sweet at the same time, and so fucking delicious. It had been so long since he'd had this. So goddamn long.

He circled her hard little clit with his tongue again, teasing her, listening for that raw sound again and hearing it like a reward, all low and hoarse and desperate. So he did it once more, flicking with his tongue before running it back down the silky, wet folds of her pussy, finding the entrance to her body and pushing deep inside.

She gave a choked cry, her hands landing on his shoulders as if for balance, the weight of her body suddenly sagging against him. “Elijah … God…”

He pushed his tongue deeper, moving one hand from her butt around to stroke her clit with his thumb before parting her wet flesh with his fingers, allowing him greater access.

She began to tremble, the sound of her ragged breathing echoing in the apartment, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “Oh … I can't … slow down…”

But he didn't, because he wasn't going to do what she said. She was the one who'd pushed him into this, which meant she had to deal with the consequences.