Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(50)

At this, he looked at her and paused again. Really looked at her. Almost like he did know her. Like he saw her. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at her like that—as if seeing past flesh and bones to the woman who had been trapped inside for so long—and she felt an uncomfortable flush of heat.

“Well,” she prodded, even though she knew she should let it go. “Why is that?” she demanded, her fingers clenching around the edge of her plate.

“He just seems so slick.”

And why did it sound like he just said sewer rat?

“Well, he is the White House communications director. Being polished is part of his job.” Defensiveness edged her voice.

“It’s not just that.” He advanced on her where she stood holding her plate. She held her ground.

She knew she shouldn’t rise to the bait, but she heard herself asking, “Then what is it about him that doesn’t seem my type?” What she was really asking was: What is it about me?

“Well, if you have to know . . .”

His voice faded as he closed the last few feet separating them. She backed away until she bumped the small kitchen island. His hands settled around the edge of the counter, caging her in. Her plate was wedged between them, saving them from full body contact. He idly glanced down at the dish.

She swallowed the boulder-size lump in her throat and nodded at him to continue.

“He seems a little too polished for you,” he elaborated, his voice low and husky, reminding her of a dark room and his hands on her skin. “Not the kind of guy to bury his face between a woman’s thighs because it might mess up his hair. Know what I mean?”

Actually, she did. Charles took great pains with his hair.

The heat scoring her face reached nuclear level proportions. “Oh.” Suddenly that’s all she could imagine. Reid’s face between her legs, her hands in his hair.

“Oh,” he echoed with a lazy smile.

Her girl parts stood up and did a cheer, pom-poms waving. That smile really was criminal. Ha! A criminal smile for a criminal. God. She winced at her inside joke. She was losing it. Or was it just that smile, rendering her stupid? Making her forget things like the fact that he was an escaped felon?

“And you,” he continued, “well, you’re the kind of woman that revels in a guy going down on you.”

I am?

Yes. Yes. She was.

Maybe not before, but suddenly that’s who she was. Maybe she had been that all along and just didn’t know it. He had awakened that dormant side to her. Unleashed this uninhibited, sexual creature.

He leaned close enough that his words fanned against her lips. “There’s a hellcat in you. You would like it wild. You’d use your nails. Your teeth.”

Her mouth dried and watered, her breath picking up. She moistened her lips. “Charles is perfect. A true gentleman.”

Something flickered in his eyes. A flash of hot emotion that faded almost as soon as it appeared. “Of course he is. And that’s what every woman wants. A gentleman.” He smirked at her.

She lifted her chin. “It is. Something you most definitely are not.”

“No, I’m not a gentleman. Especially in bed, princess. Actually, though, that used to win me points back in the day.”

Back in the day. Because he hadn’t had sex in years. Easy there, girl parts, down. He had a lot of pent-up sexual energy. Her breasts grew heavier just thinking about how he could put all that sexual energy to use. On her.

Damn him, he was right, though. She had to admit it if only to herself. There was something about a man that could go all Tarzan in the bedroom. Throw her down on the bed. Or the floor. Or against the wall. Up until now that had been a safe fantasy. Something she could long for because it would never happen. She would never cross paths with a man like that. Except now she had. She bit her lip, stifling a moan.

“C-Can I go to my room now please?” she managed to get out.

After a long moment he stepped aside, waving her to move past. She hurried around him and dove into her bedroom. Setting her plate on the dresser, she paced in an attempt to settle her nerves, shaking her hands out in front of her.

She needed to get it together. Remember who he was. Who she was.

When her pulse steadied she picked up her plate and sank down on the edge of the bed. She bit into her sandwich. It tasted like dust in her mouth. Tossing it back down, she left the plate on the bed and rose to her feet again. Moving to the window, she tried to open it. Again. She’d tried several times before. Still, it didn’t budge.

Dropping her forehead against the cool glass, she stared outside at the frost-tinged trees.

And what would she do if she got the window open? Run into the woods? He would give chase. Like before. He’d find her. Like before. That’s what men like him did. Her pulse skittered at her throat.

And why did that give her a treacherous little thrill?





Sixteen




Grace spent the next half hour pacing the room, trying to cool her flushed skin and slow her hammering pulse. At one point she heard an engine revving outside and emerged from the bedroom cautiously. She crossed the living room and peered out the window to see that Reid had managed to start the motorcycle he had been working on since yesterday. He was still wearing that long-sleeved thermal shirt that did nothing to hide his strong physique as he labored. He seemed so solid. Capable. It was hard to imagine him ever being less than this. Less than free, less than strong, less than a man among men.