In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(6)

“And you think you deserve my full attention, Sam?”

“Yeah,” he said baldly. “And you deserve mine. My full, undivided attention, all over every inch of your body, for a prolonged period of uninterrupted time.”

She shrank away. “I don’t have time for games.”

“Yeah, getting buried in a concrete bridge piling, that’s Svetlana Ardova’s idea of a good time. You must be a lot of fun at parties, babe.”

“Fuck you, Petrie!”

Ooh, hostile. “You have to let the past go,” he told her.

“Do I?” She shook with a bitter jolt of laughter. “Really! Wow, Sam, thanks for the insight! Like it’s that easy! You have no idea.”

“You’ve still got to let go,” he repeated stubbornly. “The evil vor, the dungeon, the whole f*cking horrible mess. You survived. It’s over. The end. Stop dragging that ten-ton weight around.”

“You don’t know shit about it! You can’t say that to me!”

“Of course, nobody can say that to you. That’s why your love life is so hot and happening. All those unsayable things start to choke a guy after about ten minutes.”

“Let go of me, goddamnit!” She flailed furiously.

“But I can say the unsayable. You already think I’m scum. I don’t have to pretend to be anything but a dickhead. Ahhh. Freedom.”

“I never said you were a dickhead,” she whispered.

Happy news, but he wasn’t getting cocky about it just yet.

“Where do you get courage to say unsayable things?” she asked. “All the men I meet are afraid of me. So what makes you so brave?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just dumb that way, I guess.”

There was a floor-length mirror. He tugged her across the floor until they were reflected in it, right down to the pointy toes peeping out beneath the hem of her skirt. She made a distressed sound and fought her arm free to fumble for a tissue, with which she tried to wipe mascara.

“I scare you to death,” he said.

She somehow managed to look haughty while mopping up her nose with a tissue. “No, you do not. But you are very intense.”

“Just with you. Usually, I’m Mr. Mellow.”

“Oh, please. Mellow men do not become homicide detectives, Petrie. They become botanists, bicycle repairmen, mathematicians, mindfulness bloggers. Organic gardeners. Zen monks.”

“Call me Sam.” He bent to smell her hair and she arched away, a tremor rippling through her body. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

Laughter vibrated through her. She mouthed the word. Bullshit.

His hand slid over her warm curves, shadowy dips and hollows. He wanted to eat up her delicate scent. Devour it in one breath. Miles could break down those pheromones into their chemical components and list their molecular formulas. But for Sam, it wasn’t chemistry.

It was magic. Crazy, balls-deep enthrallment.

“You just won’t give me a break,” he murmured against her throat. “And I know why. You want to know my theory about you?”

She flinched away as he cupped her jaw, letting her delicate, wispy ringlets tickle his wrist. Insubstantial as a puff of breath.

“No, Petrie,” she said. “To be honest, not really.”

“I’m telling you anyway.” He nuzzled the whorl of hair below her ear and dragged his lips over the edge of that crimson birthmark. “That day in Bruno’s studio. It was too good for you.”

A burst of laughter shook her. “Really?”

“It made you forget,” he insisted. “For a little while, it was just you and me in the room. No evil vor, no organ pirates. No past. No future.”

“Marco was there. In his crib,” she corrected, primly.

“Whatever. You’re so wound up in this scary story of almost getting your heart ripped out. It defines you. It freaks you out, to be cut loose from that. It makes you feel lost. Scared.”

“Petrie, do everyone a favor, and don’t take up psychology.”

“You lost yourself,” he persisted. “I could help you find it again.”

The frown line between her brows deepened. “You’re so arrogant.”

“That day when I touched you. You came so hard. I dream about it at night. Wake up shaking. Drenched in sweat. So f*cking hard.”

She shook her head. “Please,” she whispered.

He rubbed his cheek against that loose, gleaming topknot. “It scared you, baby. You thought you were going to die. But you won’t. I’ll take care of you. You won’t fall to pieces. Or if you do, it’ll only be for a few seconds, and I’ll hold you all together. I’ll hold you so tight. I’ll keep you so safe.” He tasted her, trailing his lips down to her collarbone.

“Sam,” she breathed out. “Please.”

“I’ll make it so good. I’ll get you off like that, over and over. I won’t be rough. I won’t scare you, and I won’t hurt you. Just . . . trust me.”

She looked up to meet his eyes. He went very still. The raw pain blazing out of them jolted him right out of his seduction schtick.

“I don’t know how to trust like that,” she said. “I just . . . can’t. I’m really not playing hard to get. You tempt me, yes. But I hold back because I just don’t have what you want. It’s not there, Sam.”