In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(16)

She shut her eyes. “Don’t turn this into a weird power game,” she begged. “I’m already so self-conscious—”

“Show me you’re serious,” he said, his voice implacable. “Call it a statement of intent. I deserve one, after the way you’ve treated me.”

He stepped back. Lifted his beer to his lips, eyes challenging her.

Her face blazed as she pulled the straps down and worked her arms loose, extricating herself awkwardly. The bustier was skintight. She pushed the cups down over her breasts and looked up defiantly, heart thudding. Breasts bared. “Do I look serious enough to you?”

He stared at her for a long moment and then set down his beer on the counter behind her. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m convinced.”

He seized her hand, never taking his eyes from her body, and kissed it again, then drew her fingertip into his mouth.

The shocking sensation of suckling heat made her drop her beer. His hand flashed out and caught it. He set it on the counter and cupped her breast, rolling the pad of his thumb around her tight nipple. The contrast of his large, darker hand against the swell of her pale breast made her breathing ragged. Those long, graceful fingers.

“Why me?” he demanded.

She was startled by the abrupt question. It seemed so incredibly obvious. “What do you mean? Why not you? Who but you?”

He snorted. “Why not me, she says. I’ve done nothing but bug you since the moment you laid eyes on me. You bust my balls whenever I get close enough to talk to you, which is almost never. Do you subject every guy to that kind of treatment?”

“Ah, no, actually,” she admitted, abashed.

“Of course not. I knew I was special. So why me? Why not some guy you like better? That ass-bite Cattrell, for instance?”

“Josh?” She shook with a helpless giggle. “Josh is not an ass-bite!”

“They say you had a thing for him,” Sam said. “He’s good looking, he has a job, he’s obviously straight and has a functioning libido. Any guy with a pulse could perform for you, Sveti.”

She shook her head. Her disillusionment about Josh had seeped in so slowly, she’d never needed to verbalize it. “It would never work,” she said. “Not for me, and not for him. I’m too far behind. I always miss the beat, and people have to explain the punch line of jokes to me, because I never laugh in time, and then when I get it, it isn’t funny anymore. Josh likes with-it girls who get his jokes. I’m sure if I begged him, he’d oblige me. But I don’t want a mercy f*ck.”

He let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Not a term I would put in the same sentence with you, Sveti.”

“I would, since we’re being brutally honest,” she said. “You said it yourself. How I’m so heavy and serious, dragging my ten-ton weight around, killing everybody’s buzz. I’m no fun at parties, I’m boring to—”

“You’re the farthest thing from boring that I’ve ever met,” Sam cut in. “You rocked that party for me. First, you attack a mafiya vor. Ten minutes later, you’re bare-breasted and lubing all over my hand. You’re a f*cking force of nature.”

“Don’t. Don’t make this into a joke. I’m trying to get this out, and you’re not helping.” Her voice quivered with frustration. She’d tried so hard to keep her boring insecurities at arm’s length, so as not to jinx this moment, but so much for that. “Men are afraid of me, just like you said. Afraid of the bolt cutters under my skirt, or afraid to say the wrong thing and make me hate them for being shallow, or else they feel guilty because their parents are still alive and they never experienced bad things like I have. They’re all waiting for me to start twitching and frothing. I always know when a guy finds out about my past. I can see it in his face. It’s a huge turn-off.”

“Sveti, it’s not—”

“But it never seemed to be one to you,” she rushed on. She had to get the thought completely out, or it would burn a hole in her head. “You’re not afraid to say the wrong thing to me. You love setting me off. The more upset I get, the more you like it. You sick, twisted bastard.”

He whistled, softly. “Wow. Intense.”

“Yes, it is,” she barged on. “That’s why you, Sam. I chose you for that special, unique quality. Since you insisted on knowing.” She braced herself, for him to be angry, or disgusted, or offended.

Her gasp choked off as he yanked her into a swift, hard kiss.

His mouth tasted of beer. Sex, hunger, hot, unbridled fulfilment. His tight, fierce grip, hot skin on skin, his hardness and solidity and musky male scent. His thick erection, prodding her belly. She clenched her lower body around the shivery, melting sensation. Knees gone soft.

After a moment, he pulled back, his breathing unsteady. His eyes glittered in the dimness. His pants tented out to an alarming degree.

“Unless you want this to happen on the kitchen counter, I suggest we take it upstairs,” he said. “That’s where I have the condoms.”

She nodded. He engulfed her hand in his and led her out of the kitchen. She stumbled as she tottered up the staircase. He slid his arm around her waist to steady her.

It felt good. So warm, and strong.



Sam bypassed the light switch by the door, leading her into the dark bedroom. That light was too bright, too harsh. It would spook her. He had to keep this cool, keep it mellow, whatever “it” turned out to be.