Page 26 of Texas
She takes a step toward me. “You want to play games with a man like that?”
“I want to catch him in one.”
Her mouth is tight. Her shoulders tense and she looks like she’s about to scream or cry or both. “You don’t have to stay for this.”
I reach for her, grab her hips, pull her in. “I’m not leaving,” I say. “And I’m not letting him scare you.”
Staring at me, her eyes are burning. “I want to hurt him,” she says, and I nod.
“Good,” I say. “Use it.”
She grabs my shirt, fisting the fabric. “I’m so fucking tired of this. Of being his.”
“Then don’t be.” I push her back against the wall, hard, and she gasps. I kiss her with heat and fury. She kisses me back like she’s starving. Her hands are in my hair, on my shoulders, yanking me closer. I shove her blouse up, then her bra, exposing her breasts so I can suck a nipple into my mouth. She moans, loud and raw, her head hitting the wall with a soft thud.
Her hands fumble with the button of her slacks. I help her, pull her pants open, and shove her underwear aside. I slide two fingers into her, and she is hot and ready. She gasps, bites my shoulder. I fuck her against the wall, hard and fast. No finesse. Only need. She claws at my back, her breath in my ear. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.”
Suddenly, she comes with a cry, her whole body shaking. I don’t stop. I chase my own release, grinding against her thigh, my fingers still inside her. I come hard, my body jerking, my breath catching in my throat. We collapse together, panting, sweaty, still pressed against the wall. Her arms are around my neck, and my forehead is on her shoulder. “I hate him,” she whispers.
“So do I,” I say.
She pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. “What now?”
I kiss her again. Slower this time. “We will figure something out.” I don’t say it out loud, but I know it in my bones. Will Cleveland just made a mistake, and I’m going to make him regret it.
Later, after dinner, and not much conversation, Kristin curled up beside me, her leg hooked over mine, breath warm against my shoulder. We’ve been lying in her bed like this for an hour, maybe more. The ceiling fan clicks with every slow revolution, but neither of us is asleep. I hear her sigh. “You awake?” I murmur.
She hums. “Yeah,” she answers. “I can’t stop thinking about everything.”
I understand. My mind won’t stop churning either, but I know we can’t just stew in it all night. That won’t help anything. “You want a drink?” I ask.
There’s a long pause. Then, “Only if we have it in the tub.”
That makes me turn my head. “The tub?”
Kristin lifts her chin, eyes catching the faint moonlight through the window. “The big one with the jets and the candles and the overpriced bath oil I never use.”
I smile slowly. “That a request or an order?”
She shrugs, but the corner of her mouth lifts. “You offering bourbon in bubbles or not, soldier?”
In answer, I kiss her temple and start to get out of bed. “Get the water started. I’ll get the drinks.”
“Alcohol cabinet is in the living room under the television,” she calls to my back. Five minutes later, when I return with two bourbons on ice, the bathroom is full of steam and soft light. She has lit three candles and turned on some low, instrumental something. The tub’s filling with water and lavender bubbles, the scent curling into the air. I hand her a glass of bourbon, and she takes it with a grateful sigh before sipping. “What an excellent idea.”
“I know.”
We undress without hurry. Not like foreplay, but slow like we’re unwrapping something fragile. She peels off her tank top. I slide my underwear down my thighs. Her eyes move over me, not hungry this time, only appreciative. I help her step into the tub, then follow, easing into the heat with a groan and only a slight sting at my elbow. The water climbs to our chests, and I settle behind her, legs on either side of her hips, her back against my chest. She exhales, head tipping back against my shoulder.
“This is nice,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, nuzzling her hair. “It is.”
We sit like that for a while. Bourbon warming our blood. Water smoothing our skin. Her hand finds my thigh under the bubbles and just rests there. Not moving. Not sexual. It’s only touching. “Do you think it will always be like this?” she asksquietly. “Men like him. Watching. Waiting. Taking what they want.”
I think about it. About the cameras and the tracking device and the way Will Cleveland is trying to own her without lifting a finger. Then I think about the fire in her eyes tonight. Her passionate anger. “No, I don’t,” I say. “I think women like you are what’s changing it.”
