“Don’t remember asking for any sort of vengeance help before we commenced fucking.” She wet her lips.
He would be kissing those lips. Soon. His head began to dip more toward her.
“I don’t remember asking for anything from you when we fucked, either. I wasn’t using my body as some sort of bartering tool. That’s pretty insulting to suggest, Cass.”
“I tend to be an insulting guy.”
“And one who freaks out over mild coffee burns.”
He had to know. “Why did you fuck me?”
Her breath caught. He didn’t think she was going to answer him. Fine, probably hadn’t been the most tactful question to ever ask but?—
“Because I’d been in cold storage since Max died. You were the first person who ever made the ice around me melt.” She tugged again. “Happy now?”
He didn’t let her go, and he was not happy. In fact, Cass wasn’t sure he could remember the last time that he’d actually been happy. But he did feel something, all right. Desire. Need. Lust. The first person who ever made the ice around me melt. “You say shit like that…and you expect me not to fuck you here and now?”
Agnes sucked in a breath. “Didn’t know that option was on the table.”
“I want you on the table.” The kitchen table was about three feet away. He would love to have her on it. Or against the wall. Or on the floor. Anywhere he could get her would be great, thanks.
Her gaze slanted toward the table.
Hell, why not just be honest? What did he have to lose? “I want you spread wide open, my dick deep in you, and I want you, coming, moaning my name.” Because maybe he’d felt like he was in cold storage, too—already dead, just going through the motions of living—until a wild redhead had marched up to him in a bar that she should never have entered. When she’d come to him, she’d changed both of their lives.
Agnes cleared her throat. “I, um, came in here for coffee. I didn’t realize that sex on the kitchen table was part of the morning routine.”
That visual was about to make him insane. His dick pressed hard to the zipper of his jeans. “Thought maybe I’d try giving you some truths. You know, seeing as how all I do is lie…but you’re my partner now. We’re tied together in this nightmare.” They were, for better or worse. “Might as well be married,” he muttered.
Her eyes widened. “Did you just propose to me?”
Don’t think of that. Don’t think of a life with her. A future. Close the door on that image. Lock it away because it will never happen. “That life isn’t for me.” Another truth. “I fucked you endlessly that night, should have gotten my fill.” The water kept running onto her hand. “I didn’t. I want to fuck you again and again.”
She swallowed.
“But that’s dangerous. Wanting you so much, so badly, is dangerous. Gray is always preaching about emotional involvements wrecking his cases. People go undercover. Lines blur. And mistakes happen.” He couldn’t afford to let anything happen to her. “But I can fuck, and I can keep my emotions separate.” A deliberate pause. “Can you?”
“I don’t…” She shook her head even as she rose on her tiptoes. “Screw it. Just kiss me.”
He did. Because her mouth was right there. Because he’d fantasized about her ever since The Bottomless Pit. Because he hadn’t immediately fallen asleep the night before. He’d watched over her. Pulled in her sexy scent. Yearned for her. Wanted her. He’d been a gentleman all night as they’d been in that bed together, and need had nearly wrecked him.
Then, when he’d woken up, he’d still wanted her. Even as she’d felt betrayed by him.
His mouth pressed to hers. Not a hard, demanding kiss, though that was what he wanted. He wanted to drive his tongue past her lips and taste and take until she belonged to him completely. Until they both forgot about the monsters in the world and the only thing that mattered was the wild need that they felt for each other.
Her left hand—not the hand she’d burned—pressed to his chest as she pulled back. “You taste minty.” Husky words.
“So do you.” He’d used the toothbrush in the spare bathroom. Had he planned to kiss her? Hell, yes. And he’d taken the damn time to use that toothpaste.
“Kiss me again,” she whispered. “Even if it means nothing.”
He did. But it meant something. It meant far more than he could ever tell her. Far more than she would ever know. Her lips parted even more for him. His tongue swept inside, and he tasted every bit of her goodness. She pressed closer. Her body so warm and tempting. He could pick her up. He could put her on that table. Strip her.
Pound into her. Send them both careening into an avalanche of body-quaking pleasure.
She moaned, and he swallowed the sound. Drank it up so greedily. He loved the sounds that she made for him. Loved the way she responded. Nothing held back. Passion. Desire at one hundred miles an hour. They touched, and they both ignited.
Fire whipped through his blood. He wanted to touch and taste and claim every single inch of her. He wanted to own her. Brand her. Mark her.
