Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(62)

“You know my work?”

“Every last piece in your online website,” he said. “I’ve never been much for visual art. I specialize in sound. But your stuff really does something to me. I never get tired of looking at it. The ceramics were my favorites. Persephone’s Pride, I loved that one. Pandora’s Box was amazing, too. I was bummed that somebody had already bought those, or I would have gotten them for myself. My very first art investment.”

She was startled, and touched. “Wow. Thanks.”

He shrugged. “None necessary. You did all the work.”

“I thought I knew about the nature of evil, back when I made those pieces,” she said.

“And now?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t know shit.”

“So make new versions,” he said. “I’ll commission them from you.”

She shook with silent emotion, to high and fine a vibration to be laughter. “They wouldn’t be pretty,” she warned.

“I’m not scared,” he said.

She looked him in the eye. “No, you aren’t, are you? I’ve never met anybody as fearless as you.”

He looked uncomfortable. “We all have our strong points and our weak points,” he said.

“Miles,” she said. “Listen to me. You’re a sweet guy. Amazing. Brave, special, gorgeous. Heroic. You saved my life already, multiple times, if you count the mind shield. It’s more than I ever dreamed anyone would ever do for me. You’ve done your part. Thank you.”

“I already told you not to thank—”

“I’m not finished!” she snapped, frustrated. “I have a huge shadow hanging over my life. I blight everyone that I touch—”

“Not me,” he said. “You did the opposite to me, and I—”

“Huge shadow, got that? You should run in the opposite direction. Run! Don’t walk.”

He was silent, his face thoughtful. He shook his head. “I’m not going to do that, Lara. How can I do that when you keep pulling me back in? You’ve been pulling me from the beginning. I can’t walk away from you, let alone run. I can’t pry myself away with a f*cking crowbar!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t seem to stop.”

He frowned. “Stop what?”

She flapped her hands. “Coming on to you. Clinging. Pleading for attention. Sneaking inside your head. Begging you to f*ck me.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said. “I liked it. Even when I thought I was psycho. I like it even more, now. You don’t have to beg.”

She hid her face in her hands. “Oh, God. Will I be responsible for you getting killed, too? And all your friends too, most likely?”

“Those guys are as tough as they come,” he said. “And as far as that shadow goes, it’s hanging over my life, too. Same damn shadow. I wouldn’t get away from it by running. And you make me strong.”

Indefinable emotion blazed through her, making her heart twist and ache. So hot and sweet and painful. “I’m glad I have that effect on somebody,” she whispered. “I don’t feel strong at all.”

“But you are. You’re a survivor. You’re incredible.”

She shook her head violently. She couldn’t bear to give in to this, to him, and then have it torn away from her, but that was the way it was destined to go. She could feel it. No way to stop that machine.

“I have no idea what my future holds, Miles,” she said. “All I know is that it’s probably not going to be pretty.”

“I know one thing your future holds,” he said.

She shook her hair back. “Yeah? And what is that?”

“Me,” he said, and pushed her down onto the bed.





15


Mine.

He’d never felt it like that. Beyond emotion. It rose up from the depths of his being. She felt it in his kiss, the way he handled her, covered her, held her. Tight, jealous. She wasn’t slipping away from him. He wasn’t falling for any bullshit about danger or blight or shadows. Let them just try to mess with her.

Let them try. Bring them on. He would f*ck them up so bad.

She felt good beneath him. Strong and pliant, legs wound around his waist. That sweet mouth pressed to his, gasping for breath. Twining and pressing up against his weight. His hands were all over her, shoving the shirt up so her breasts pressed his chest. He cupped her ass, slid his hand down to stroke her thatch. He petted the length of her tender slit with his finger, up and down.

“You washed off all your lube,” he observed.

She blinked up at him, straining for little panting breaths. “Huh? Oh, ah . . . yeah. I didn’t know we would . . . that you would want to—”

“No problem.” He slid down her body, folded her legs out wide. “There’s more where that came from.”

He heard, vaguely, the frantic words. Felt the fingers tangling into his hair, pulling desperately, but he was in the grip of a huge, muscular impulse. Mine. The moment he tasted her sweet salty lube against his tongue, it multiplied, exponentially. So slippery hot and succulent, all her sweet tender pink inside bits. He wallowed in her quintessential femaleness. Could not get enough of it, not ever. More.