Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(66)

She kept her hold on the weapon. “What are you doing here, Max?”

“I traced your name. Traced you. Should have done it long ago.” The words were deeper and darker than she’d heard before.

Understanding hit. “You’re drunk.”

“I wish.”

Lightning streaked across the sky behind him.

“You’re a genius.” His hands slapped against the wood on either side of her door. “How many degrees did you get from MIT?”

She shook her head. “Why are you here?”

His gaze seemed to burn her.

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because I needed to see you.” He leaned forward. Max ignored the gun as he caught her chin in his hand and tipped her head back. “I just needed you.” His lips crushed hers. His mouth was hard, hungry, wet from the rain, and she wanted him. Her lips parted, and Sam tasted whiskey on his tongue. Whiskey and… him.

Her mouth widened. She needed more of him. Her left hand pressed against his chest, right above his heart that raced so fast beneath her fingers. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and she moaned in her throat, a low rumble, even as her breasts tightened with hunger.

More.

His tongue swiped against hers. His head lifted. Slowly, so slowly. “I figured out something tonight.”

She fought to keep her breathing steady. Okay, he was playing it cool. She could do it too. “What’s that?”

“We’re not over.”

She knew her eyes widened.

“Work your case. Do whatever you have to do, but we’re not ending, not yet.” A pause, then his lips kicked up on one corner in a rough half-smile. “That is, unless you tell me to drag my ass out of here.”

She didn’t say anything. One hand stayed over his heart and one hand clamped around her gun.

His gaze searched her face. “We started… at the wrong place. Too fast. Too hot.”

But she shook her head. He didn’t understand. “No, we started just right.” He’d been what she needed. Sex. Pleasure. No past. No future. And now…

A blast of thunder broke the night. Sam inhaled sharply. “Come inside.” She turned away and headed toward the desk. The door clicked shut behind him. The snick of the lock seemed a bit too loud.

She opened the drawer and put her weapon inside.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked.

With her back to him, Sam hesitated.

The wood groaned beneath his feet as he walked toward her, then his hands caught her and wrapped around her shoulders. “You know what I’ve done.”

She stared at the closed drawer of the desk.

“They say everyone’s got the capacity to kill…”

If pushed far enough. Yes, she believed that.

“… but we both know I’ve crossed the line.” A stark pause. “And if I had to protect someone I loved, I’d do it again.”

The hands that held her had killed. Her gaze shifted to her own hands. Pale. Small. But they held her gun so well.

“I want you to know, though,” he said, and his breath blew lightly over her ear, “that I didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping. With any of them. I don’t need Malone’s money. I don’t want it. As soon as Quinlan turns twenty-five—just a year and a half to go—it’s his.”

Her breath hissed out, and she turned toward him. “Max…”

“I’ve always tried to protect the people in my life, but no matter what I do, they get hurt.” His gaze burned bright. “They get hurt, and I can never stop the pain.”

She swallowed. “Wh-where is Quinlan?” The FBI still had a team watching him. One phone call, and she’d know instantly where he was.

A muscle twitched in Max’s jaw. “He’s back at Frank’s, with Beth. I hired bodyguards for him. They’ll stay with him, 24–7, until we’re damn sure he’s safe.” His hair was slick from the rain. “I just… I had to see you.”

Sam leaned toward him. She wouldn’t ever forget his eyes in the hospital. All that rage had been directed right at her. “Max, I’m sorry about the way this went down.” Because, yes, she felt guilty as damn hell.

“You busted ass to find him.” He shook his head. “What those bastards did—that was them, not you.”

Her eyes watered—stupid contacts, had to be them—and she blinked.

“I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw you.”

Oh, damn. Sam admitted, “I didn’t even try.” Because he’d been all she could think about.

“Fuck.” He pulled her even closer. His clothes were wet, but she didn’t care. “I need you,” he growled.

When they kissed this time, she was desperate for him.

A thin cotton t-shirt covered her breasts. A pair of old jogging shorts skimmed her thighs, and she wanted them off. Wanted her clothes gone. Wanted his on the floor.

Wanted him on the floor.

No, the bed. Do this right. This was different. Not just sex.

Not. Just. Sex.

“You’re wet,” she whispered against his lips. “G-get out of those clothes.” She licked his lower lip. Nipped him.

A shudder worked over his body.

Her gaze bored into his. “Come to bed with me.” Her hands caught the bottom edge of her t-shirt, and she pulled it over her head. She tossed the shirt to the floor, let him look, then walked away—slowly, carefully, knowing that he watched her every move.