Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(44)

A hissed breath escaped him. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” Even as she asked the question, she knew. She knew why not. He was who he was. She was who she was. Everything was wrong about this. Except her body thought it felt right. Her long-denied libido thought it felt pretty perfect.

“Because I might take you up on your offer.” She felt him then—the hard erection digging into her. Her mouth parted on a gasp.

He pushed his hips forward, and that succeeded in making her moan. She felt her own eyes widen. Felt her muscles quiver and clench between her legs.

“Would that be so bad?” she whispered, even though she didn’t need to talk in such low tones. Even though it was just the two of them all alone out here in the middle of nowhere. No witnesses. The outside world forgotten, this great big thing that didn’t matter or exist. That’s how it felt in this moment. That was how she wanted it to be.

His fingers flexed in her hair, pulling her forward so he could fan the words across her lips. “Careful, little girl. This is a game you don’t want to start with me.”

It was her turn to frown. “I’m not a little girl.”

“Then you know that kissing leads to other things.”

“Sure. And it’s not anything I haven’t done before.” God, was she actually saying such things to him? Was she actually baiting him into sleeping with her?

She had clearly crossed a threshold. He should terrify her, but she couldn’t dredge up a shred of regret. There was no impulse to flee or go back. Only forward.

Something passed over his features and his pale eyes darkened, the flecks of amber bright inside the deep green. “I can assure you . . . you haven’t done it with me before.”

She studied his face, admiring its brutal beauty. No, her list of lovers was short, totaling two, and neither one of them were anything like this man. Really, they were boys in comparison. Nor would any man in her future be like him. She knew that without a doubt. She didn’t cross paths with warrior Viking types. This might be her only chance to have this, to be with someone who was so . . . raw. Someone who didn’t have sex. Her gaze skimmed him, wholly convinced. He didn’t have sex. He f*cked.

He stepped back, dropping his arms from around her.

She stood there, feeling bereft and trying to hide it as she recovered from the kiss to end all kisses.

Without a word he turned and marched out of the kitchen into the bedroom, leaving her alone. Left to herself, mortification slowly slipped in, settling alongside his rejection.

He’d told her she wasn’t his type. Apparently he meant it. He might have kissed her in some fit of temper, but he didn’t want more. He didn’t want her even though she had flung herself at him like some dog in heat. God. She closed her eyes in a long, pained blink, rubbing one palm against her overheated cheek.

She had definitely crossed a threshold. She was ready to bump uglies with an escaped felon, her kidnapper. It was so messed up. She was messed up.

She inhaled deeply. It was the stress of the situation. If they’d actually done it, she would have been riddled with regret afterward. It wouldn’t have been real. It couldn’t ever be real.

It was a sign. When she made it back to the real world, she would make some changes and get her life in order. No more living for her father. It was overdue, but her life would finally be her own.





Fourteen




Grace disappeared into the bathroom. She wished she could just disappear altogether and didn’t have to face him ever again, but since she was still his captive, the bathroom was the only place she could truly hide.

First order of business after she got out of here? Get laid.

Okay, maybe not first order. She’d have to break the news to her parents that she was leaving DC and taking back her life.

Deciding that a cold shower always worked in books and movies, she stripped off her clothes and stepped inside. She gasped at the shock of cold. She felt like she deserved a little punishment after that kiss. Her behavior had been unforgivable. Responding . . . embracing it.

She endured the icy water for as long as she could. She didn’t need to wash her hair again, so she angled the showerhead so the water didn’t make contact with her body. In no rush to face him, she pressed her palms flat against the shower wall and dropped her head, stretching her too-tight neck. Her mind backtracked over the events of the last couple days, landing on one all-important, definitive fact. She was still alive. That was the everything of it. The most important fact. Reid had promised he would keep her safe. He’d promised that there was an end date to this, even if he didn’t tell her when. Eventually, he would return her back to her life.

Her life. She mulled over that for a moment. After the terror of her abduction and near brush with rape back at that house with all those horrible men, after witnessing her father’s exaggerated display of grief over her abduction, she suddenly viewed her life with intense dissatisfaction. She viewed it with fresh determination. It needed to change. She was twenty-six years old. She was finished living according to her father’s dictates. When she got out of this mess, she would no longer be playing the part of puppet for her father, and she was most definitely not announcing an engagement to Charles.

If their relationship didn’t improve, if chemistry didn’t actually arise between them, she was finished with dating him. If it could even be called that. They dined out for the benefit of cameras. Shared chaste pecks, again for the benefit of cameras. They watched Doctor Who together. The rest of the time he talked about work. Politics. Her father. Mood killer, that. He talked about the future. His future.