DONOVAN (Gray Wolf Security, #1)(142)

He went in search of the maid while I stepped outside, tugging my cellphone out of that stupid purse again and looking up the number for a cab or an Uber or something. I was about to make the call when he came out the front door.

“Let’s go,” he said, his words clearly a demand that he didn’t expect to be denied.

“I’m going to get a cab.”

“No. You’re coming with me.”

“Yeah?” I looked at him, challenging him to push me. But if I’d expected him to back off, I was disappointed.

“I’m paying your father a f*cking hell of a lot of money for you to stay by my side and make sure nothing happens. You will get in that car, or I’ll call him and tell him that I no longer want to work with his agency anymore. Is that what you want?”

And that was the cold water that was doused over my body, forcing me to remember that this wasn’t some lover’s spat. This was so much more complicated than that.

I got into the car, my arms crossed over my chest as he climbed behind the wheel and tore out of that driveway much faster than he should have. It was a miracle he wasn’t pulled over as he pushed that luxury car to its limits, speeding around the expressway like it was a racetrack. When we pulled through the security gate behind which stood his house, I was about ready to explode.

“I don’t need to be here if you have your own security.”

“You of all people should know what a joke a gated community is.”

“It’s all the security you probably need tonight.”

He ignored that jab and climbed out of the car, leaving me there alone as he went into the house through the side door. I followed a minute later, realizing I really had no other option. I found him in the living room, pouring himself a healthy swig of vodka from a bottle on the bar at the back of the room.

“When you hire a security team, you kind of need to tell them everything pertinent to your situation.”

“I did.”

“I don’t remember my father mentioning anything about the fact that you’ve been f*cking your sister-in-law.”

He turned and looked at me as he drank from the tumbler he’d just filled, but he didn’t acknowledge what I’d said.

“It seems to me when someone’s threatening you and the threats can be traced back to your brother’s computer, information like that might be important.”

“I’m not f*cking her.”

“Doesn’t sound that way to me.”

“Sure you’re not allowing your own feelings to cloud your judgment?”

My hands turned into little balls of fury at my sides. I turned slightly, in part because I didn’t want to look at him and, in part, because I wanted to find something nice and solid that I could throw at him.

“Why did she come to Kemah?”

“You saw her. She was high.”

“But she didn’t come to see Jacob.”

“Lynn has issues,” Lucien said, his tone changing slightly. “She was in a car accident a couple of years ago that left her with chronic pain. She uses things she shouldn’t in order to deal with it.”

“But why you and not Jacob?”

“We’re friends.”

I snorted.

“Don’t believe me,” he said, turning back to the bar. “I don’t care what you think.”

“Good.”

I turned and headed back toward the kitchen, trying to pretend like I didn’t have a knife protruding from my back. It didn’t matter that his words hurt. Didn’t matter that seeing that woman touching him, reaching for him like he was the only thing that mattered to her, made my soul feel like it had been exposed to heat for too long, like it’d become this shriveled, useless mess. He was just a case. This was just a case.

But then he was grabbing my arm, forcing me against the wall, his mouth hunting for mine. The taste of vodka on his lips, the feel of his hands on my hips as he lifted me up, raising me to his level, desperation bruising my lips. My hands tangled themselves in his lapels, holding on for dear life. I responded to his kiss for a moment, wrapped myself around him in the seconds it took before the hurt reminded me that this was not right.

I pushed at his shoulder, his jaw.

“Stop.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against my chin, his lips sliding down over my throat. “I’m sorry,” he said again as he pressed his face against my breasts.

I hit his shoulder, and it felt so good I did it again.

“You’re an *.”

“I know.”

And then he carried me upstairs, and I let him, my body wrapping itself around him, my head resting against his shoulder, my lips sliding over his throat.

He laid me on the edge of his bed and stepped back, kicking off his shoes and sliding out of his sport coat. The shirt came next, lifted over his head despite the buttons that ran down the front, exposing that Hollywood-worthy chest and perfect abs. The devices that kept him healthy came out of his pockets, the clip of his insulin pump unhooked and wrapped around the device, abandoned on the side table. And then his hands moved to the thin button that kept those dark trousers around his waist.

I went to him then, pushing him back into a convenient chair that happened to be behind him, covered, in true bachelor fashion, in abandoned clothes. He fell back, his eyes tight on me as I knelt in front of him and tugged at that button. I pulled it open, pressing my lips to the bare flesh it exposed just below his navel. He groaned, his hands coming to mess up the simple hair clip that had taken me fifteen minutes to perfect in my hair.