Mercury Striking (The Scorpius Syndrome #1)(44)

“Fine. I believe Red and Joe were working alone in trying to take over, but everybody else now knows without question that they either leave or they stay here under my leadership.” The atmosphere charged with his frightening mood. “Did you eat?”

“Not hungry.” She held still, feeling him out. Her eyes were gritty, and she probably did need a few hours of sleep before returning to work. The documents were complicated, and she needed to concentrate. For now, her attention centered on the warrior filling the apartment.

Tension, dark and angry, filled the atmosphere around him. Instead of frightening her, as it should have, the fierceness clawed through her abdomen. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Fine.” He slipped another knife from his boot and tossed it onto the counter. “Why?”

“I heard about Shawn.”

Jax stilled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I wasn’t asking you to.” Jax’s pain, his fury, were palpable in the small room. The emotions, so raw and real, sped up her heartbeat and warmed her blood. She couldn’t save him, she knew that, but something about his wounded desperation called to her. She felt it in her own abdomen, the pain of the night and the futility of continuing on. She’d killed. On purpose. There had to be a way to stop feeling the repercussions for now—to turn off her brain.

He pivoted, tall and powerful, strength among ruin. Sexy and masculine, and just as damaged as she. He eyed her, direct, and her body finally started to warm. She stood, breathless, and crossed to him.

“What are you doing?” he rumbled, sliding a wicked-edged knife next to a bowl.

She had no clue. Going on instinct? They’d both had a hellish night, and she was freezing. She just wanted to warm up.

Jax was all heat. Hurt glimmered in his eyes, and the sense of being torn apart sizzled on his fury. She could think of only one way to ease his pain and forget her own. So she stretched up on her toes and licked under his jaw. Whiskers bit into her tongue, and she moaned.

He stiffened. “Lynne, baby? It’s been a really shitty night.”

“I know.” She pressed against him, enjoying the ripple of muscle as he tried to hold back. “I don’t want to think about the night. Or talk about the night. Let’s forget the night.”

His hands clamped on her arms, and he held her at arm’s length, studying her. “You want me to take you away?”

“God, yes.” She unfastened his belt buckle.

Jax Mercury wasn’t a guy to ask twice. “Gladly. Forget about Myriad, forget about vitamin B, and just be here in the moment.” He slid his hands across her chest and down, tightening them over her breasts before reaching the hem and tugging the slightly damp cotton over her head. She shivered.

Big and warm, his hands molded to her breasts. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “In case I forget to tell you, you’re beautiful.”

Panic rippled through her abdomen, and her breath heated. She flattened her hand over the bulge in his jeans. “I don’t want sweet, Jax.” She didn’t want emotion or feelings or depth. She squeezed.

He stilled. “You don’t want sweet?” Something dark, a warning of sorts, deepened his voice.

She shivered again. “No.”

“Fair enough.” He moved faster than possible, lifting her, moving, and laying her on the bed. Another wipe of his hand, and her yoga pants flew across the room.

Fire lit her from within, along with a healthy dose of reality. Of caution.

“Jax?” she asked. What had she just unleashed?

He straddled her and reached for his belt, gaze intent. The sound of leather sliding through denim echoed loudly in the silent room, skittering a wary hunger down her spine. He smiled, showing his teeth in an expression that was anything but sweet.

Thunder roared outside, and metal clashed against the building.

Nude, beneath him, she was breathless with vulnerability. “I don’t want scary, either.”

His belt free, he leaned toward her face. “You sure about that? Maybe scary is exactly what you need.” His thighs tightened, and he ran the leather down her neck and over her nipples. They hardened to sharp points and zipped electricity across every nerve. The memory of the leather against her flesh earlier assailed her.

She trembled, her mind blanking. “Uh—”

He grinned and grabbed her wrists in one firm hand. She struggled, and his fingers tightened. Awareness clipped through her on the heels of fear. Manacling her, he wrapped the belt around her wrists, securely binding them.

She gasped. “What are you doing?”

“Not being sweet.” He yanked her arms up over her head and fastened the belt to the metal headboard.

She arched, fighting him, unable to move.

Lightning flared outside, illuminating the harsh lines of his face. Of his tight, strong body.

She caught her breath, struggling against the bed, her arms bound tight. He encircled her neck, gently, but providing a clear reminder of her fragility. Humming softly, he traced a path down to her breasts, where he tweaked both nipples. Hard.

Electricity, desperate and out of control, zipped from her breasts to her sex. She arched up against him, a craving for more rendering her mute. Her entire life she’d been in control, and losing it, to somebody like him, heated her up. Fast.

He chuckled and stood, dropping his jeans. Hard and ready. He slid back onto the bed, all smooth-muscled grace, and flattened his hand over her abdomen. “You ever been tied up?”