The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #2)(98)

“What are you thinking about now?” he asked.

Nothing good. “Nothing, really.”

As she looked over, she stared into his eyes, his incredibly beautiful, yellow eyes. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Anything.”

“You really wouldn’t have chosen this life?”

It was a moment before he answered. And his expression became so grave, and his voice so deep, that she felt as though he were sharing some part of himself that he did not expect to get back.

“I hate it here.” His voice became hoarse. “I hate everything about this place. It’s cruel. It’s inhumane. This is not an existence anybody would ever want. The things I’ve seen . . . the things I’ve done . . . I was half dead when I was put in here—and I didn’t know how much further I’d sunk until I saw you standing under that fire escape.”

“I’m nothing special.”

“You are so wrong about that.” He laughed a little, and she had the sense he was trying to lighten the mood. “For one thing, I’ve watched you get hit by a car and walk away from it. That’s skills, right there. And now I know you’re good with a gun, but we don’t have to dwell on that.”

Her eyes shifted away to the bloodstain on the floor.

His finger, stroking lightly on her chin, brought her face back to his. “He more than deserved it. And not just for what he’d been about to do to you. He was a piece of evil on the earth, a sick, perverted murderer. Try not to think about it.”

“Why did you save my life so many times?”

“I didn’t have anything better to do.” He winked at her. “All three times.”

Rio had to laugh. “Stop it. I’m serious.”

“Okay, fine. I needed the exercise. How’s that.”

Covering her smile with her hand, she batted at his shoulder. “That is not funny—”

“I thought I could maybe fall in love with you, and I didn’t want a car, or a bullet, or any fucking thing in the world to get in the way of that. So there.”

Rio blinked, her heart stopping. “You don’t mean that.”

No more joking now; he became dead serious. “They’re my words. I picked them because I know what they mean.”

“You don’t know me.”

“And you don’t know me.”

Shooting him a stare, she pointed out, “Well, I didn’t just tell you I’d fallen in love with you.”

“I said I might be able to.”

Stop, she told herself. Stop this right now.

“Well . . . have you?” she breathed. But then she put her hand up. “Don’t answer that.”

“Why did you ask the question then.”

Rio looked away. Looked back. And then couldn’t stop herself from falling into a fantasy. “You could leave this life, you know. You don’t have to be here. I mean, you could . . . you could just go out that back door and never return. People disappear all the time. My father did it. You could do the same.”

“It’s not that simple,” he said in a hollow voice.

Shit, was she actively encouraging him to become a fugitive from the law?

She gathered his hands in her own. “Listen, you could escape all this, and just—I don’t know—you could even go to the police. You could tell them all you know in exchange for immunity and a witness protection program—”

“Why are you trying to get me out when you need me to make a deal with you?”

Rio blinked and realized she might have just given herself away. “Because I’d rather do business with someone I can be objective around. And that’s next to impossible with you.”

His smile was slow. Sexy. “Are you saying you feel the same way I do?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Rio took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” When Luke leaned into her, his cologne—that damned cologne, that he maintained was not cologne—got into her nose . . . and went right to her blood. “And I think you want exactly what I do right now.”





Rio’s face was so close to his that all Lucan would have to do to kiss her was tilt in a little farther—and he knew if they got started with that shit, it wasn’t going to stop there. Her scent had changed, the arousal she was feeling rising to match his own.

And fucking hell, he wanted her.

“Are we going to do this?” she whispered.

“Yeah, we are.”

There was no hesitation on her side when he closed the distance between their mouths, and as he pressed his lips to hers, he had to hold back—or her clothes were going to be ripped beyond repair. As it was, he was already easing her back on the bed, moving over her, pinning her with his weight— Goddamn, she was gripping his bare back with her hands, digging her fingers into his skin—and he wished she had longer nails so she could scratch him properly, draw blood, make him moan from the combination of pleasure and pain. And there were other good things happening for him. As she shifted so she was under him properly, his arousal made its own way between her thighs.

Screw the nails. He wanted her hot softness more.

As he penetrated her mouth with his tongue, he rolled to the side and swept his hand along her waist, up to her ribs, around the side of her breast. With a restless surge, she twisted her torso— And put herself right in his palm.