Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(27)

*

I WANTED TO search for my brother immediately, but I needed Philip’s help. I needed transportation out of here, for one thing. I also needed contacts to the criminal underworld.

But before any of that, I needed food. I hadn’t eaten since last night—my stomach growled at the sight of lasagna on the rustic kitchen table. It seemed we would eat in here tonight, instead of the dining room where Adrian would not have been invited. Even in this casual setting, there were wide-bottomed wineglasses and linen napkins embroidered with sun-touched hillsides.

Apparently we were all hungry, because the thick ceramic platter emptied of lasagna quickly. The only sounds were gentle tings of forks against plates or the pours as Adrian refilled my glass with dark red liquid.

The atmosphere was more somber than comfortable, with Philip mostly silent and brooding.

When Adrian spoke, he didn’t bother interrupting Philip’s reverie—making me think it was a normal occurrence. Instead he focused on me. Even though I knew he intended light conversation, I couldn’t keep what I’d learned a secret so soon after the phone call.

“Jesus,” Adrian said after I told him, setting his fork down. “You don’t know where they’ve taken him?”

I glanced at Philip, but he didn’t look at either of us, focused on some invisible point. “No,” I said. “They’re waiting for contact, but even when that happens, they don’t have the money to get him back.”

Adrian’s gaze flicked to Philip, and I knew he was wondering the same thing. Would Philip pay it? And just how much would it cost me? Everything, Philip had said—was that too high a price to pay for my brother’s life? The answer came swiftly and painfully: no. I would pay anything, everything.

I guessed Philip already knew that.

Numbness would be great right about now. I took another gulp of the sweet, sharp wine.

“That’s some luck,” Adrian said. “An incident with the cops this morning and your brother taken at gunpoint last night.”

Yes, it was some luck. But no accident. I met Philip’s enigmatic gaze, challenging him to admit the truth now. “Who did you say hurt you last night?”

His gaze met mine, and I saw that he had been listening all along. He gave me a slight smile, not entirely kind. “I didn’t.”

“Of course not.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Worried about me, kitten?”

“Surprised, that’s all. A normal night for me would be study group or a Netflix marathon. Not a bleeding man on my doorstep.”

Adrian chose that moment to reach for the wine bottle—he was silent, very discreet. Philip covered the rim of my glass with his hand to block him. My lips had touched that rim repeatedly, and Philip’s fingers resting on the thin glass looked somehow intimate, almost obscene.

“Enough,” he said softly, his gaze on me.

Adrian set the bottle down on the table and got up. Without a word he left the room.

I blinked in surprise—and maybe a little annoyance. “Do you always speak to him that way?”

“I was speaking to you.”

Anger rose up in full force, but before I could say a word, Philip was out of his seat. I stood to counter him, unwilling to back down. He kept coming at me, undeterred. My body ended up flush against the wall. He stood close enough that his broad chest filled my vision. I had to look up to meet his gaze.

His expression didn’t mirror mine—no anger, no helplessness. Only hunger.

“You have no right,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I have every right.” His thumb brushed my lip. “This mouth. This body. It’s mine. I’m the only man who can touch it, who can f*ck it.”

I flinched. “You’re a bastard.”

That earned me a low chuckle. “I’m a bastard because I take what I want. Because I keep what’s mine. Did you imagine it would be any different when it came to you?”

I opened my mouth to respond, even though I didn’t know what I would say. Whatever it was, it would be scathing. It would condemn him. And then his lips brushed over mine, and it was too late.

Time’s up. That was what he’d said in the car. It was what he said now, but not with words. With the achingly soft caress of his lips, the inexorable demand of his tongue. He wanted inside my mouth. He wanted inside my body.

I pressed my lips together, stubborn and resistant—like a child holding her breath to get her way.

It was his hands that convinced me, the way they gripped my hips. There was so much knowledge in that grip, as if they would hold me the same way when he was buried inside me. It undid me. I was no longer a stubborn child, but a woman—and my lips parted on a sigh of surrender.

He took every advantage, pushing my mouth open so there was nothing I could do but submit to him. His exploration was both thorough and sensual. There was an animal grace to the flick of his tongue, to the power of his body. It didn’t feel like payment for him helping my brother. It didn’t feel like a question either. It felt like he was taking something from me—and the base part of me gave in without a fight.

Firm hands pulled my hips flush against him. I could feel the ridge of his erection, and he ground me on it—not moving his body against mine, but instead mine against his, using me to give himself friction. Heat bloomed between my legs, my secret spaces desperate for that same motion deep inside me.