I struggled to pull my hands free, desperate to finish what he had started. But he held me fast, and I wanted to shout curses, to make demands, to drop down on my knees and beg. But it was all I could do to draw breath as my body shuddered, every nerve, every sensation pooled between my legs in anticipation of a touch that he seemed determined not to give me.
“Please, what?” he asked, as I dragged my teeth over my lower lip.
“Please,” I repeated. “Please everything.”
His low, satisfied chuckle washed over me, teasing my skin with as much sensuality as if he were trailing a feather over me.
“Touch me,” I demanded.
He bent closer so that his breath tickled my cheek. “I am touching you.”
I wiggled my hips in unspoken demand. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he said. “But I want to hear you say it.” He drew his tongue up the edge of my ear, and I bit down on my lip for fear that if I didn’t I would cry out in both pleasure and frustration.
“I want—” I swallowed and tried again. “I want you inside my panties.”
To his credit, he complied, and I sighed with pleasure as his fingers stroked my slick, swollen flesh. I was completely bare, having recently discovered Brazilian waxes, and the way his finger slid over my wet flesh was driving me completely insane.
He didn’t, however, touch my clit, and so I had no relief for the desperate, pounding growing need that was building inside me.
I moved my hips, trying without words to let him know exactly what I wanted.
“Demanding thing, aren’t you?” he teased.
“Dammit, Evan, you’re being exceptionally mean.”
“Maybe.” He stroked his finger lightly over my clit, and my entire body lit up. “But I’m damn sure enjoying myself.” He slipped his fingers inside me, and I gasped as my muscles tightened around him, drawing him in. “That’s it, baby. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to be fucked.”
I clenched my hands into fists, managing to gather enough self-possession to say, “You’re just figuring that out?”
He laughed softly, but whatever amusement I’d felt in the wake of my comment faded under the slow, rhythmic assault of his hands upon my body, sliding deeper and deeper, leaving me breathless and anxious and so very, very close.
When he drew his hand free, I actually whimpered, and when he slid his fingertip—wet with my arousal—between my lips, I moaned and took him in, closing my eyes as I sucked and teased, imagining it was his cock in my mouth.
“Dear god, that’s hot,” he whispered. He moved closer, and I felt the press of his erection against my belly, tight and hard beneath the denim of his jeans. “I want you, Angie. I want to yank your skirt up and rip these damn panties off. I want to bury myself inside you and watch your face while you come.”
I said nothing, only drew him in deeper and relished the soft sound of his own, responsive groan.
“But not here—not in an alley.” He drew his finger from my mouth, and my eyes fluttered open. “I’m taking you home. I’m going to fuck you, Angie, but I’m going to do it properly. Say yes, baby.”
I nodded.
“I want to hear it.”
Stupidly, I nodded again. “Yes,” I said, after fighting to regain the power of thought.
“Good girl.” He gave me a moment to recover the ability to walk, then led me toward the street where, I presumed, he’d parked.
We’d only taken two steps toward the intersection of the alley and the street when a shadow fell across the sidewalk, followed quickly by a form that I recognized. Bruiser.
A second guy flanked him, tall and lean, with the kind of sauntering walk that told the world he could beat the crap out of just about anyone.
A shock of panic—hard and fast and cold—shot through me. How could this have happened? I never take my guard down when I’m outside, and sure as hell not in a dark alley. And yet I’d been totally unaware of everything. I’d seen nothing, heard nothing, noticed nothing. From the moment we exited the club, there had been only Evan. I’d let myself go with him—I’d let myself fly—and everything had gone to hell.
Fuck.
“He the one that horned in on your girl?” the lean guy asked.
“My girl? More like my slut.” Bruiser aimed his beady eyes at me. “What would your mamma say about you doing the nasty in a dark alley with that son of a bitch?”
“Fuck you,” I snapped. Or, at least, I tried to. Instead, the words stuck in my throat, trapped there when I spied the glint of the knife in Bruiser’s hand. A chill crept over my entire body, icy fingers trailing up my spine. I sucked in air, and tasted salt water. I closed my eyes, and saw blood.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
I didn’t realize that I’d taken a step backward until I felt Evan’s hand closing tight around mine, locking me in place. I froze, taking shallow breaths, trying to concentrate only on the reassuring feel of his hold upon me.
He was order to my chaos, calm to my storm. Fear might have me tight in its grip, but Evan slipped out of its fist like butter. The alley—hell, the whole damn situation—was his to command.
“I think you owe the lady an apology,” he said smoothly.
“Fuck you.”
“I’d really rather not,” Evan said. “Now get the hell out of my way.” His voice was hard, his manner equally so. He took a single step toward them, forcing me to take a corresponding one. I bit my lower lip, then tasted blood. I saw Bruiser’s mouth moving, but I couldn’t make out the words. Though I knew I was looking at this dark Chicago alley, what I saw was the barnacled posts beneath the pier. What I heard was the crash of the ocean against the beach. It was as if I’d fallen into one of my dreams, and I couldn’t fight my way out of the nightmare.
Then Bruiser lunged, leading with the knife, and the sharp pierce of a scream ripped me back into reality. It took a second before I realized that it was my scream, and that in that minuscule amount of time, Evan had released my hand, raised his arm, and managed to block the oncoming knife.
“Shit, Chris!” the lean guy shouted as Evan twisted Chris-the-Bruiser’s arm behind his back and wrested the knife free.
“Motherfucker!” Chris snarled, but he didn’t struggle, and from where I stood I could see why—considering Evan’s grip, if Chris even breathed wrong, his arm was going to snap.
“You fucked up bad, pretty boy,” the lean guy spat, already in motion with his own knife tight in his hand.
In the kind of move that Hollywood directors probably spent weeks choreographing, Evan shoved Chris aside, spun toward the lean guy, knocked his knife arm out of the way, then thrust the tip of the knife he’d taken off Chris into the flesh at the base of the lean guy’s throat. Chris cursed and sprinted down the alley, leaving his buddy to Evan’s mercy.
Evan didn’t even spare him a glance, his attention focused entirely on the lean guy with the knife still twitching in his hand. “Give me a reason,” Evan said. “Give me just one reason, and I’ll slice through you like butter.”
“Fuck you.”
“Wrong reason.” In a move too fast for me to see how it happened, Evan yanked the guy into a clench, his face a wash of rage. Now the length of his blade was pressed to the lean guy’s throat. I saw a single drop of blood trail down his neck. “All I have to do is flick my wrist,” Evan whispered, the voice so soft and menacing it seemed to be inside my head instead of spoken.
The guy’s eyes were squeezed tight, and the knife he still held clattered to the pavement. I caught the pungent scent of urine and knew that he’d wet himself.
I heard a soft noise, like the cry of a child. At first I thought it came from the man in Evan’s arms. Then I realized it came from me.
I saw Evan’s muscles stiffen, saw the shift of expressions on his face, the way he brought the rage down. The way his chest rose and fell as he looked at me and gathered himself. Slowly—very slowly—he drew the knife away, and I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed quiet. The thought should have terrified me. It didn’t. This was Evan, and like Jahn, he’d do whatever it took to protect me.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Evan said, his voice like the low roll of thunder.
The guy didn’t waste any time. He took off down the alley, practically tripping over himself in the process.
Slowly, Evan moved to the trash bin and tossed the knife in. Then he came toward me, moving gingerly, as if I were a wounded animal. I didn’t understand the reason for his tentative approach until he crouched in front of me. Only then did I realize that I’d slid to the ground, my knees pulled tight to my chest.
“Hey,” he said, his voice as gentle as I’d ever heard it. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He reached out and stroked my hair. “They’ve gone. They’re not going to hurt me, and I’d kill them before I’d let them hurt you.”
I nodded, thankful for his touch. The pitching, tossing waves inside me began to settle into soft, undulating swells.
I reached out a hand for him to help me up, but he shook his head. “No. I’ve got you.”
Before I could protest, he had his arms under my legs and behind my back. I thought I should protest, but I couldn’t quite work up the desire. Instead, I curled against him, letting his steady strength soothe the rawness of my memories.
I have no idea where it came from, but the moment we emerged from the alley onto the street, a familiar-looking black Lexus pulled to the curb. A burly man with arms as thick as my thighs hurried out and opened the back door for Evan, who moved gingerly as he placed me on the soft leather.
“Don’t go,” I whispered, as the icy prickles and hard knots of fear began to return.
“Never,” he said, as he slid in beside me. And then I was in his arms again, safe and warm. I curled up next to him, my eyes closed. I heard the door slam, then the sound of Evan’s palm against the back of the front seat. A signal to go, I realized, because the next thing I felt was motion and power as the Lexus pulled out onto the street.
Evan said nothing, and for that I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to explain. I didn’t even want to be reassured. All I wanted was for him to hold me, and he did that, his arm around me, his fingers idly stroking my upper arm. My head rested on his shoulder, and though I thought I felt his lips brush over my hair, I couldn’t be sure, as I didn’t have the strength to lift my head and look at him.
I was tired. My body drained, my muscles limp. Everything was coming at me too damn fast. I didn’t want anything but the feel of Evan’s arms around me, and if I had my way, I would have stayed like that, held tight in the warmth of his embrace, forever.
seven
Forever ended all too soon.
The next thing I knew, the engine had stopped and we were parked in front of Jahn’s building. As I blinked groggily, I saw Tony the doorman hurry over. He pulled open the door and Evan slid out, then bent back in to give me a hand.
“I’m fine.” The breath I drew in was shaky, and I knew that my voice was going to sound petulant, but I couldn’t help myself. “You brought me to the condo.”
His gray eyes were clear and full of understanding. “I thought you needed someplace familiar.”
I nodded, even though he was wrong. I didn’t want familiar. Hell,
I
was familiar, and wasn’t that the whole point? To get as far away from myself as I could? I’m not sure I knew anymore. All I knew was that for years, I’d felt lost. Until tonight, that is. Until I felt Evan’s touch and knew that I’d finally come home.
That, however, wasn’t something I was going to tell him. I might be feeling ripped and scared and sentimental and a million other emotions, but I knew better than to dump the heavy shit on a guy I wanted to stay. So, wisely, I stayed silent as he led me through the polished lobby to the sleek elevator bank.
The car arrived and we got on. I started to dig in my purse for the card key that would access the penthouse, but Evan already had one. I’m not sure why I was surprised. He was as close to Jahn as I’d been. Maybe closer. For years, Evan had been around full-time, while I’d only been able to visit during the summers and then, later, when my college load permitted jaunts into town.
Only silence greeted us as we entered the condo, a sharp contrast to the noisy hum of the guests that had filled these walls earlier in the evening. Not even Peterson was around. Though he was ostensibly Jahn’s live-in help, he actually lived in a separate apartment one floor below the penthouse that could be accessed by a private set of security stairs.
In other words, Evan and I were alone. And while I could still recall with vivid, delicious clarity the way that his body had felt against mine in the alley, right then it wasn’t the press of skin against skin that I craved. It was simply the man, beside me, telling me that everything was going to be just fine.
As if he could read my mind, he led me to the comfy leather couch, then pulled a soft afghan over me. “Shoes off,” he said. “Then I need you to tell me the truth.”
I looked at him sharply, not sure I was ready to talk about the way I’d flipped out.
“Hot chocolate, wine, or something one hell of a lot stronger?”
I actually smiled, the expression feeling foreign. “Cocoa, please.” I narrowed my eyes. “But only if it’s good. I have my standards, after all.”
His smile was casual, but I could see the spark of relief in his eyes. If I was making quips, maybe I wasn’t quite the wreck he’d feared. “Sweetheart, I’m always good.”
My smile widened and a genuine laugh escaped.
“That’s what I like to hear.” He reached for my hand, then brushed his fingers over mine before he moved off toward the kitchen.
The moment he was out of sight, the weight of the air in the room seemed to bear down on me. I’d done this before. Curled up beneath a blanket. Hot cocoa. Only Evan wasn’t in the kitchen that time, my mother had been. And my father had been beside me, holding tight to my hand. I’d had my back pressed against the sofa, but as much as I’d hoped and wished, the cushions refused to open up and swallow me.
The detectives and uniformed officers had been gentle, their questions respectful, their voices soft. But that hadn’t stopped the walls from closing in or the tears from flowing.