Page 10 of Forbidden Desire

“That’s not my name,” she said, heavy heat crowding her belly when he stopped in front of her.

Her mouth watered. Something was wrong. It felt like ants were trailing up her spine to the back of her neck. The side of her leg touched the desk. Nothing was behind her, no trap, no fence or wall. Yet, as she slid along the hard edge of the solid desk, he moved with her like she’d asked for something. She hadn’t. Shouldn’t. Yet…

“Drink?” he said, offering the glass.

The moment it was in her palm, he swept her hair from her shoulder. She tossed her head back to gulp the potent whiskey. Was she aware of him stooping over her? Maybe. Yes. She was. And didn’t resist or object. Curiosity won out. When his lips grazed the side of her neck, her eyelids sank. The contact was… so delicate, yet… There was power. She shouldn’t be drugged by it, shouldn’t let him take the empty glass from her hand to put it on the desk she boosted herself onto.

Damn, she’d done it. Of her own freewill, she parted her thighs to accept him between them. As she responded to the heat of his kiss on her jaw, she turned her head, his rose and then their mouths were…

Oh, God, he tasted like her, like them, the burning liquid flavored his tongue, intoxicating her as the liquor had. Except this drug was all natural. Biology. Of need. Of want. Of primal urge to…

His palm skimmed under her skirt, up over her hip to the band of elastic resting there. It wasn’t right. She shouldn’t plant her hands on the desk behind her and raise her ass to let him slide her panties down her legs.

Not only did she do exactly that, but when he stepped back, she kicked the silk away and snatched the back of his neck to yank his mouth to hers again, demanding its attention. She didn’t want to be without it. Not yet. Not now. Addicted to the heat of his forceful tongue, she needed to battle back, to push with the same strength, to give him the same assurance that seared her.

As she shoved the jacket from his shoulders, his hands went under her skirt to pull her ass to the edge of the desk, forcing her against the thick column of his own want. Shit. She wanted it. Wanted him. Clutching at the back of his head, she couldn’t have him close enough. Why hadn’t they done this the previous night? Why weren’t they doing this every damn minute of the day?

Tendrils of cool air on her spine proceeded the rasp of her dress zipper. With no warning, he slammed her down, knocking the wind out of her. The creep of his sly smile might have been sinister if it wasn’t for the glaze in his alight gaze. Whatever chemistry was at work between them, he was hooked too.

In that second, it wasn’t possible to say no. Instinct moved her as he wanted her to move, under his spell, his control, his authority. Sliding the dress from her shoulders down to uncover her breasts, he was quick to snatch her hips and jerk her to the edge again.

He bowed, unbuckling his belt, his lips finding hers as her legs wound around him. A mew of need escaped her throat. It was too fast and too slow. She wanted to be complete. That would only happen if he got his goddamn cock out his pants faster and—

“Ire!”

A masculine shout came from the corner. The man on top of her twisted and there was a shot. A gunshot. A scream. Whose scream?

Still panting, it took a second to register the anger on the profile of the man locked in the embrace of her legs.

“Shit, Dingo, what the fuck did you…?”

That was a third voice. Niall, maybe.

“Get him the fuck out of here before I finish him,” the guy above her snarled, his accent thick.

The startling venom in those words brought her to her elbows. Dazed by endorphins, the view was almost unbelievable. Niall was there, with two others, picking up an unknown guy. Blood. There was blood all over the front of the stranger’s shirt. He was injured. Shot. Her mouth opened slow. Someone put a bullet in him, and Ire was the only man holding a gun.

FIVE

THE STARTLING CLUNK of a weapon hitting the desk came at the same time her legs were pushed down and her hand grabbed. They were moving. Where were they…? The bleeding guy and those helping him went down the stairs. Her playmate led her the other way, through the curtain in the corner into a small square hall. Stairs up and a door next to them.

Up was their route. Where were they going? What was…? At the top of the stairs, he doubled back, rounding the hip-high wall separating the stairs from the floor. It was a living room. Was it?

She didn’t take much of it in before they passed through an open section in the wall. A bedroom. Oh, she knew what that was.

The gun in his other hand caught the light as he tossed it to the floor by the end of the low-profile bed.

“You shot that guy,” she said as he took her waist to pull her in front of him, the bed at her back. “Why did you do that?”

“He interrupted,” he said, hooking an arm around her to drag her zipper down the rest of the way.

Her dress fell to the floor. “You shot him. That’s…” A complete overreaction? Alone in the shadowy space, it wouldn’t be wise to say that out loud. “You shot him in front of the Police Superintendent’s daughter.”

Probably not smart to remind him of that either.

“Aye,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. “Now you have leverage.”

“Leverage…”

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