Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(43)

“Fuck it.” In two long strides he was there, hauling her close, wrapping her trembling body in his arms. Val turned into him, melted against his chest, pressed her face into the side of his neck. A soft sob escaped her throat.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he said, tightening his hold. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

“Ethan . . .”

“It’s all right, honey.” He pressed his lips against her hair. She was tall. He hadn’t realized how perfectly she would fit him. “You’re safe, baby. Everything’s going to be okay.”

She made a faint little whimper, took a deep breath, and pulled away enough to look up at him. Her lips were plump but still pale, and they were just inches from his. If he moved just a fraction . . .

Val leaned up and kissed him. Her mouth, soft and damp, melded exactly with his. Ethan didn’t hesitate, just dragged her fully against him and claimed the gift she offered. He was already aroused, his erection throbbing inside his jeans. When her soft lips parted, inviting him to taste her, his tongue swept in and the kiss went deeper. Vaguely, he heard himself groan.

The kiss went wilder, hotter. He tasted sweetness and the remnants of her fear, tasted hot desire. Val pressed herself against him, the vee of her sex pillowing the hard ridge of his. He wanted to be inside her more than he wanted to breathe.

Her robe had come partly open. He looked down at the luscious breasts he’d admired from too far away. Filling his hands with the smooth pale fullness, he tested the weight, ran a thumb over her nipple, and heard her swift intake of breath.

“Ethan . . .”

Her nipples were hard. When he bent his head to take the tip of one between his teeth, her head dropped back to allow him better access, and her fingers curled around the nape of his neck, holding him in place as he suckled and tasted.

Fisting a hand in her hair, he dragged her mouth back to his and kissed her again. Kissed her until neither of them could breathe.

“I need you,” she said softly. “Oh, God, Ethan, I need you so much.”

He wanted to tear the robe completely away, wanted to admire every inch of her beautiful body. He growled like a predator, felt like one as he lifted her into his arms and started striding toward the bedroom. Val didn’t stop him, just clung to his neck, her head on his shoulder, her satin robe flowing around them.

Ethan kissed her long and deep as he crossed the threshold, his erection high and hard, straining for release. He’d almost reached the bed when an insistent knock sounded on the door.

Val whimpered. Ethan swore a dark oath and clenched his jaw against the pain of his aching arousal.

With a long, calming breath, he set Val on her feet, pulled her robe back in place over her breasts. “Stay here.”

Striding out of the bedroom, he crossed the living room, looked through the peephole in the door, and saw Matthew Carlyle standing in the hallway. He’d been expecting Carlyle. Just not this soon.

Cursing himself for losing control, he looked back at Val, who had walked into the living room. “You okay? It’s Carlyle.”

Val pulled the sash on her robe a little tighter and raked back her heavy blond hair. “I’m all right. Let him in.”

Even with his light brown hair unkempt, the shadow of a beard covering the scar along his jaw, Matthew Carlyle was an imposing man. And impeccably dressed as always, in beige slacks and a blue Oxford cloth shirt.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Ethan said as Carlyle walked into the living room, though his arrival had been the last thing on Ethan’s mind when he had been kissing Val. “I’ve got friends in the DPD. I know about the murder.”

Carlyle looked past Ethan to Val. The color was back in her face. The kiss had been good for something, at least.

“Ethan came to tell me what happened,” she said, not venturing a glance his way. “I can’t believe there’s been another murder.” She looked as if she’d just climbed out of bed, which she had. If Carlyle hadn’t interrupted, Ethan would have had her back in bed again.

“It wasn’t one of our girls, Val,” Carlyle told her. “Everyone’s okay.”

“Not everyone,” Val said. “A woman is dead.”

Carlyle’s mouth tightened. “That isn’t what I meant.”

Val’s features softened. “I know that. I’m sorry, Matt. It’s just—”

“Hey, I understand. This isn’t easy for any of us.” Matthew turned in Ethan’s direction. “You said you had friends in the police department. What did they tell you about the murder?”

“Enough to make me wonder if it’s the same guy as the one in Seattle. The woman who died wasn’t a model. The man who killed Delilah sent threatening notes to ten women, killed one of them, said he was going to kill another. If it’s our guy, he’s changed his plans. He couldn’t get to a model so he took out another woman.”

“A stripper,” Carlyle said. “That’s what a police captain named Bridger told me. The killer must have considered her morally impure, same as he does the models.”

“That’d be my guess. And she was raped, which Delilah wasn’t.”

“He raped her?” Val’s voice quivered.

Ethan’s gaze swung to her face. “That’s right.” There was no use holding back. It was going to be in all the papers. “And it wasn’t quick like the first time. She fought him before he killed her.”