Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(32)

He hesitated. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Forgive me if I have my doubts. You’re an escaped felon. I doubt me not being some leggy blonde matters.”

His features hardened. “I might have escaped from prison, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a code. I’m not a rapist. If I was going to attack you, I already would have.” His top lip lifted in a slight sneer. “Your virtue is safe.”

He was right. And that was when she had to face the truth . . . when she confronted what it was that truly frightened her. Herself.

Then she knew exactly how much trouble she was in . . . isolated in this cabin with this man.

Oh, no, she wasn’t worried about him raping her. Grace knew he wouldn’t do that. She was worried that he wouldn’t have to—that he could have her if he wanted her. With a look, a word from him, she would give him everything. Permission granted, he could take her. That had become her worst fear.

She was afraid she would respond to his touch. Welcome it, even. Maybe invite it if she got into that bed with him. In the darkness the temptation to forget herself—forget the world—could overtake her when she was pressed against a man whose body was made for tangling in sheets and taking a woman hard, using her in a way that would unravel her.

A part of her wanted to shatter the proper and controlled veneer of her life. To finally be touched. For someone to see her and peel back all the layers and tap into something that was real. To uncover that part of her that was locked away, neglected. Never felt. Never touched. Never seen.

If he made any overture, she could crumble.

It was strange. You never knew where you were going to be when self-realization decided to Taser your ass.

She inhaled a shaky breath. He stabbed a finger toward the bed and she almost flinched at the ferocity in the gesture. He had reached his end for the day. “Now get in this bed, Grace.”

She didn’t know what did it for her—if it was his tone of voice or the shock of her self-realization—but she stepped forward and slid beneath the sheets. Now that she knew her vulnerability, she could resist. She was armed with the knowledge of her weakness. She would not fall prey to him—or herself.

The bedside lamp clicked off and he slid in beside her. A small measure of light spilled into the room from the lamp in the living room.

She curled on her side and her mind immediately turned to escape. She couldn’t count on him letting her go and she definitely needed to get as far from him as soon as possible. She began turning over the possibilities. Once he fell asleep she could ease out of the bed, grab the keys, take the van and go. It was doable. Except she didn’t know where he stashed the keys.

Then his voice rolled over her in the semidarkness. “And just in case you’re thinking of running again . . .” He sat up and flipped the covers off them. Cool air wafted over her bare legs. She yelped as he picked up her foot and looped something around her ankle.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, sitting up in the bed and watching him as he leaned over her feet.

She felt a tug on her ankle. He turned slightly then and seemed to be working on his own ankle. “Just tying our ankles together. There.” Reid settled back down beside her, propping himself up on one elbow. He lifted his foot. The motion pulled her ankle up, and she could see the plaid scarf connecting them.

Her gaze flew back to his. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“I’m a light sleeper. I will feel it if you try to untie that knot.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. He simply rolled onto his side. Even with a good amount of slack on the scarf between them, her ankle felt the pull.

“Ass,” she muttered beneath her breath. His light chuckle told her he must have heard her.

With a huff, she rolled onto her side, indifferent to the sudden move that yanked the scarf taut between them.

Fuming, she lay there, convinced she would never find sleep, but eventually her lids grew heavy. She closed her eyes, thinking about how glad she was going to be when she got out of here . . . and how she was going to make certain her life changed for the better. She would tell her father she was finished living her life campaigning for him. She would break things off with Charles for good. And she would never again be a woman longing for the touch of an unsavory criminal.





Eleven




Reid woke with a raging hard-on. It wasn’t so unusual. It happened. Especially in prison where the yearning for a woman could be so acute that wet dreams occurred with high frequency. He blinked a few times, chasing away the cobwebs of what had been a deep sleep.

The only unusual component to the situation was the woman sprawled on top of him. Her hair was all over him like some kind of damn silken web. An accurate description. He felt ensnared.

Her head was cushioned on his shoulder, one of her legs wrapped around him like he was a giant pillow. The fullness of her breast nestled into his chest. She was braless. He felt the bead of her nipple through the fabric of her T-shirt. He wanted to roll her onto her back and pull that breast into his mouth so badly he ached. And there was his dick at full mast . . . wanting to do other things to her, too.

He faced the ugly truth. It didn’t matter what good faith words he spouted. His body wanted what it hadn’t had in years. It wanted Grace Reeves.

He could profess that he wouldn’t touch her all he liked, but putting himself in this kind of proximity with her was just misery.