A wicked desire creature.., p.19
A Wicked Desire (Creatures of Darkness 3), page 19
She was about to push him away when she lost the sensation of the hand that had been groping her backside. She felt oddly bereft.
Then his open palm landed a decisive smack to her ass cheek. Her back bowed at the unexpected sting. She sucked in a sharp gasp that stretched into a low moan. He began kneading the spot directly after, turning the sting into delicious heat.
Moisture pooled between her legs.
“You like that, don’t you?” His tone was pure wickedness, deep and rumbling, and so damn confident that he was right.
She feared he was. She was shaking and panting and ready to beg him to do all the things that would wipe clear her mind so she didn’t have to think about what they were doing or who she would hurt in the process.
Grasping for a sliver of reason, she tore away from him.
He let her go, looking both confused and irritated by her action. His harsh expression said he was two seconds from taking her back into the cage of his body.
She knew if he did, she wouldn’t be able to resist him again. She hurried to the opposite side of the bar, using it as a temporary shield.
“Why are you making this so difficult? You want me. You think I can’t tell?”
“I might want you,” she admitted, still catching her breath, “but that doesn’t mean I should!”
He readjusted himself in his pants, taking on a pained look. But in the next second, a cool mask slipped over his features. “I will have you.” His tone was so chillingly even.
“Why don’t you go have one of the countless sex club chicks out there? I’m sure you’ve acquired several cards by now.”
His eyes narrowed. “There you go, being funny again. Perhaps I’ll take you to the club. Tie you up and gag you so you can’t get away from me. Force you! Is that what you’re expecting?”
“You haven’t given me reason not to.”
“I’ve given you every reason not to!”
She laughed, but it lacked humor. “You’ve tried to control me. Bullied me over and over. Threatened me. You’re little better than a barbarian. What did you say?” She mimicked his accent, deepening her tone. “I take what I want, when I want.”
“You think you know me then, do you?”
Her chin hiked. “The first time someone shows me who they are, I tend to believe them.”
“That worked out well with your ex, from what I hear.”
And he goes straight for the jugular. “Did you kill Ms. Windshaw?” she countered, hiking her chin.
“I guess you’ll never know.”
“You could let me in your head. Or are you afraid of what I’ll find there?”
“Is that what you were up to while I was on the couch pretending to sleep?”
He’d been pretending?
“I woke as soon as you came into the room,” he replied to her unspoken question. “I’m irritatingly attuned to your presence,” he muttered as a side note. “I was curious what you might do. Never thought you’d try to dig your way into my brain, though I shouldn’t have put it past you.”
Faster than she could react, he stalked around the bar, his big body driving her back. The wall stopped her hasty retreat.
She tilted her head back to look up at him, determined not to let him cow her. “If you’re innocent as you say, you should have nothing to worry about.”
He boxed her in with his arms on either side of her. His head lowered, leaving his lips scant inches from hers, his breath caressing her skin. Would he ruthlessly kiss her again? Did she want him to?
In a low voice, he rumbled, “And if I’m guilty?”
“Are you?” she whispered back.
A knock sounded at the door. For several seconds, he didn’t move, the moment suspended, their eyes locked. Then, with a disgruntled sound, he pushed away from her and marched to the foyer.
She took a moment to catch her breath. Her hand shot to her chest, covering her hammering heart.
“Good evening!” a voice called. It was the man from this morning, the tailor. In a conspiring tone, he asked Knox, “Did the lady like your selection?”
“What selection?” she demanded, approaching them.
“Oh,” the man said. “I didn’t see you there, miss.” He’d wheeled in a cart dripping with jewelry.
At her questioning stare, Knox sighed indignantly and then went upstairs to the bedroom, returning a moment later. “Not that you deserve it, but here.” He handed her a set of gorgeous, gem-encrusted necklaces.
Befuddled, she took them in her palm. They glittered brilliantly, even in the low light.
She flashed back to Winston’s courtship: the jewels, the gowns, the nights on the town. At the time, she had been awed, flattered, and besotted. A girl who’d grown up with nothing in the way of treasured belongings, how could she not have been instantly enamored? But now, with the clarity of hindsight, she saw it for what it truly was. “You really are trying to buy me!” she hissed.
Tight-jawed, he gazed at her blankly, unapologetic.
She shook the necklaces at him. “Do you think this will get you in my pants?”
He crossed his arms. “It worked for your late husband, didn’t it?”
She blinked. Swallowed.
Blinked again.
Swallowed again.
Her world tilted, and a sharp fissure split through her heart. She tried to keep her composure, but she was unable to dam the rage spilling out of her like a toxic tide. That mystical wind that seemed to accompany her temper surfed the room on a wild wave. Tendrils of her hair whipped around her face as though brought to life.
His palms went up in a surrendering gesture. His lips were still moving, saying something, his eyes darting nervously, but she couldn’t hear through the fog of anger.
Like the cap of a carbonated beverage that had been shaken past its breaking point, she snapped. Power erupted from her. His body jerked back, flying into the trolley and bringing it to the ground with him. Jewels scattered. The tailor hollered, ducking for cover.
His offending gifts in hand, she stomped toward the balcony, verbally cursing him, and hurled the necklaces over the edge. A bright eruption of light welcomed them into the black storm clouds below.
She wasn’t even remotely mollified.
She returned to where Knox was pulling himself to stand, both of them ignoring the pale-faced tailor who was peeking out from behind the couch.
Knox stared at her warily, yet brooding, a muscle flicking in his jaw.
At the toppled cart, her hands fisted around more necklaces, earrings, bracelets, whatever she could grab, ripping them from their hooks. She returned to the balcony, tossing the loot over. Jewels glinted in the moonlight before vanishing to nothing.
Still she seethed, but the heat was draining from her, her hurt simmering to a slow boil. She sauntered back inside to face Knox, daring him to say something. To do something.
He turned to the gaping, frightened tailor. “Perhaps you should go before more of your trinkets end up on the ocean floor.”
The man sputtered, “T-that was half a mil in jewels!”
Seemingly uncaring, Knox growled, “You’ll be reimbursed. Go.”
The flustered man scurried out, but not before giving Cora a wide-eyed once-over.
Knox turned on her. “Feel better?”
“Hardly.”
“I’ll have to compel him to forget all this later.”
She shrugged. “Shouldn’t be a problem for you. It’s what you’re best at.”
He frowned. “It was not my intention to anger you. Women generally enjoy receiving expensive gifts from men.”
“Yeah, from men who love them! Or at least claim to! Not dickweeds who just want to screw them in passing!”
His brow rose. “That has not been my experience.” He crossed his arms and gave a heavy sigh, seeming to deflate. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about your hus—”
“Tell me the truth! Did you kill Sara’s grandmother?” she interrupted hotly, not wanting to give him a chance to smooth things over with a half-hearted apology. He could be charming when he tried. When he wanted something from her.
“No!” he growled, matching her anger. He stepped toward her again.
She leapt back, sparking magic in her palms. Her magic was oddly obedient at the moment. He stopped dead, eyeing her hands cautiously.
“I don’t believe you,” she told him.
“Shocker.”
“Why did you kiss Sadira like that? How did you know it would work?” The curiosity had never left her. She thought she knew the answer, but she wanted him to say it. To be honest for once.
That muscle worked in his jaw.
“Clearly you had a relationship with her. Is that why you had her locked up? She get a little too clingy for little Knoxy?”
His gaze turned murderous. “What did I say about using that name?”
She was beyond caring. “Was she just another inconvenience you needed to get rid of?”
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, please enlighten me.”
He ground his teeth, just glaring at her.
After a few tense heartbeats, she didn’t think he would respond, but then he dropped his shoulders. “She was winning,” he explained, losing some of the bite in his tone. “Seconds from killing us. I knew it would trip her up.” He ran his fingers through his hair, then rubbed his palm along his neck. “But the truth—?”
“That would be a revelation.”
He hesitated. “In my mind, it wasn’t her I was kissing. It was you.”
“What?” The admission sent her reeling, her palms extinguished. She recalled his kiss continuing after Sadira’s extraction. She remembered letting it go on, kissing him back, the flutter it had caused behind her ribcage. It had been the perfect excuse to experience Knox’s passion while avoiding the guilt.
Oh, goddess, I’m as bad a him.
An ache bloomed in her temples. The room shimmied and spun. The alcohol was catching up with her, turning sour in her stomach.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know what? I don’t even care anymore. It’s late and I’m too buzzed for this. I’m going to bed.”
When she passed him on her way to the stairs, he reached out for her. “Wait, cher—
She dodged. “No! I can’t handle any more tonight.”
* * *
Mentally cursing, he watched her bound up the stairs and disappear into the bedroom, half expecting her to reappear and hurl a pillow or two at him like a scorned lover. He almost wanted her to so he had an excuse to keep arguing with her—silence meant the end of what could have been a mind-blowing evening. He now suspected that sex with her might just alter his view of reality, if he could stop sparking her ire.
But she didn’t reappear, not even to decree he’d be sleeping on the couch. Not that he would obey if she did. But he would give her a couple minutes alone to cool down. He needed a few himself. Lust and anger still churned in his blood.
He scraped his hand down his face.
At dinner he had thoroughly enjoyed talking with her. Teasing her. And she had too. But on the way here, something had gotten her back up. If he didn’t know better, he would have said she’d been jealous. A primal part of him had thrilled at the prospect, though he’d done nothing to merit it, that he could recall. Then she had mentioned the club card that buxom bartender had handed him, and he could have kicked himself.
He’d taken it to be polite, nothing more. Besides, he couldn’t be with another, even if he wanted to—and wasn’t it crazy that he didn’t want to?
Could Cora really not know what their bond meant?
All night, his attention had been on her, yet that simple card had put a major kink in his seduction. It was almost as if she’d been looking for a reason to fight with him.
But then that kiss…so filled with passion, desire...wanting. She had kissed him desperately, like to breath was to have his lips on hers.
He grew impossibly stiff just thinking about it.
Dammit! He’d never hungered so deeply for a woman.
How had the night snowballed so quickly?
Oh yeah, he gave her jewels and then insulted her character when she flat-out rejected him. Brilliant. No need to come up with a reason to fight after that. He’d basically gift-wrapped that argument for her.
And, boy, could she pack a hell of a punch. He couldn’t deny that he’d deserved it, though.
Damn his impulsive mouth.
He was used to saying whatever he wanted, not caring who he offended. To him, filtering was what you did with water, not thoughts. The moment the words had left his lips, he knew he’d royally screwed up. He’d apologized directly—and he never apologized—for anything!
Yet he had to her.
Repeatedly.
Sincerely!
All the good it did him.
If only one could reverse time. Before he’d fouled things up so badly, she’d been so fucking sweet, so responsive, like a hummingbird to nectar.
His hands clutched into fists, missing the feel of her under his palms. Her scent still hung in the air, teasing him. It made him want to march up there and demand her immediate forgiveness so they could resume touching each other.
He paced. If he went up there now, she’d probably blast him to Kingdom come. Give her a minute to cool off.
Two drinks and an hour of stewing later, he decided she had no right to be so angry with him, anyway. He was the one who should be pissed. She had tossed him across the room like a ragdoll! And some lucky little sea creature could now fund an underwater resort with jewels to spare.
Half a million for one slip of the tongue? She should apologize to him! Earn his forgiveness.
Half-inebriated, he headed up to inform her of this, barging into the room with little grace.
He halted, losing some of his fire.
She was nestled in a cocoon of blankets, lightly snoring, her face smashed into a fluffy white pillow. Even passed-out drunk, she was beautiful. Delicate. So damn innocent-looking.
Fuck.
The rest of his anger melted. He wouldn’t wake her just to yell at her. He could do that in the morning.
Defeated, he peeled off his clothes and quietly slipped in next to her. Flat on his back, he stared up at the ceiling.
Sexual frustration aside, as well as the little tiff they’d had, which he secretly hoped she didn’t remember tomorrow, the evening had been…unexpectedly pleasurable. He hadn’t anticipated that. He’d never imagined how gratifying it would be to coax a smile from her. He’d even made her laugh. Hearing it had been like finding buried treasure, like he’d searched all his life for that simple sound. Now that he’d found it, he feared he was greedy for more.
He mentally mocked himself. Addicted to a sound? What was wrong with him? She was a succubus, for Christ’s sake. A fucking Conwell to boot! He didn’t give a fuck if she liked him or not. His goal was simple: use her body till her succubus bond wore off. That was it. He needed to stick with the plan. And that didn’t involve taking her out and showing her a good time.
So why couldn’t he stop imagining all the activities they could do together tomorrow? Some of them didn’t even involve sex!
Late into the night, he found himself watching her sleep, his head propped up on his arm, endless questions swimming in his duplicitous mind.
He recognized he was growing a little obsessed with her. Was that because he actually liked her? Because of the bond? Or because of what she was? Were these his feelings, or was she somehow bewitching him?
He was inclined to believe the latter, but, amazingly, he didn’t wish to. Did that lend more proof to his original theory, or was his own tragic history skewing his perception?
If she was bewitching him, she was much more cunning about it than he could ever have imagined. Put a frog in a pan and slowly turn up the heat; the frog will never recognize the danger. He almost laughed. At dinner, he’d hinted at turning up the heat in their relationship, but perhaps she was playing it smarter, making him think he was in control, making him crave her more than he craved his next breath...till she had him by the balls.
So was he the frog or the flame?
The answers weren’t forthcoming.
He laid back and threw his arm over his face, letting out a frustrated breath. At the sound of a tiny whimper, he went tense. He glanced back at Cora. A few seconds later, her head thrashed to the side, and he thought she murmured Bray’s name.
He shot upright. Is she dreaming about Bray while in bed with me?
She let out another whimper, but it was not a sound that could be confused with pleasure. This was a nightmare.
Chapter 22
Cora tried to scream, but for some reason she couldn’t push sound through her lungs. Darkness surrounded her but for a soft crack of light at the other end of the tunnel.
The door to Bray’s cell!
He was in there, moaning for his angel to come save him.
She wanted to run to him, but the ground was like sludge. Behind her, the doctor laughed, brandishing that terrifying syringe in his cruel hand as he reached for her. His sinister aura closed in on her.
She turned away and struggled harder to get through the dark goop sucking her legs down.
With a great effort, her feet finally tore free, and suddenly she was in Bray’s cell, the doctor’s laughter echoing behind her.
She raced toward a bloodied Bray trapped to the wall. His head was limp, and he was barely conscious. Desperate, she pulled at his bindings, but she couldn’t figure out how to release him. Any second the doctor would come for her. He planned to take her life this time.
She glanced back at the door. It was empty. But when she looked again, he was there, filling the doorframe. He was pale and seemed to be twice his normal size. Blood dripped from his mouth, which was gaped open in a silent scream.
His dead, foggy gaze was accusatory. “This is going to pinch,” he grated. Red-stained spittle flew as he spoke.
Then he was on her, scratching and biting, tearing at her skin.
Desperately, she fought against him. His hands dug into her shoulders as he shook her and yelled her name over and over.
